Recovery
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Han and Leia tackle the residual effects of Han's carbon poisoning as they both continue to heal in the aftermath of Leia's miscarriage. An Identity story. H/L; AU. [Set before the epilogue of Casualty; reading that would be useful].
1. One

_a/n: this is another sort of interlude story. it lacks one of my usual introductions to the 'core' stories of the Identity 'verse because it really isn't one. at the heart, it's a continuation of_ Casualty _that i didn't think deserved to be confined to imagination. so, as a reminder:_ Casualty _took place throughout 7 ABY, and ended (epilogues) during the New Year's Festival Week that opened 8 ABY. therefore, remember that in this story, we're still in 7 ABY, trudging slowly towards the Haven opening._

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Part One

7 ABY

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Time - a concept that was damning and comforting all at once. Whether it be that there was too much time, or too little time, and whether it be a matter of the wrong time, or the perfect time, it was a thing indescribable in its necessity and its relativity, a thing reliable, and unreliable. Time was both a physical presence and an intangible idea - a construct, more often than not, that was both warden, and liberator.

Following the loss of their much-wanted baby, the acute sting of grief mellowed to a slow, dull acceptance - Han and Leia, having reached the quiet, deeply mature understanding that time was what they both needed to ease the shock and overcome the sense of throttled hopes they had both been struck with, grappled with the persistent ache of enduring it, a feeling which resembled the half-lucid, irksome muscle-ache of a mild fever or flu, something that sapped strength without inflicting the full brunt of illness.

Time was, without question, what they had needed - what they _still_ needed - and yet it was an elusive healer, more difficult to navigate than expected - integrated into their daily lives and interactions in ways that, particularly for Leia, did not always sensitively reflect the deprived, bewildered sadness simmering in her heart.

She still found it surreal, carrying on in the workplace, in her daily life, while orienting her reality to the fact that she was no longer arranging her schedules - arranging her life - to prepare for a baby; the abrupt shift back to operating with _out_ a thought to impending motherhood was jarring; it flared up roughly, and left her - depending on the day - bitter, or pensively morose, as she tried to recapture a way of thinking that she had disposed of several months ago, when she and Han had reformed their mindsets.

Frustrating her efforts to ease back into that more youthful, babies-are-a-thing-of-the-distant-future attitude was a conflicted, small voice that kept reminding her that this _one_ miscarriage was not the end of it all; she was young, and healthy, she and Han were - not lacking in ability, and there would be opportunity in the future - success, even - and that voice asked her not to utterly erase the maternal instincts she had started to cultivate and summon, because she would need them. As for Han, her worry over him frustrated her, too - the matter of the infection in his bone marrow hung over them heavily, provoking anxiety and uncertainty that neither of them were responding to with finesse.

The cascade of relief Leia had experienced in learning that there was nothing inhospitable about her own body still buoyed her, but was mitigated by her concern for Han's health, and her empathy over what he was likely feeling despite her reassurances that she placed no blame on him for any of this. It was a devastating turn of events, but an unpredictable one, and Leia knew that logically, Han understood that - she was also viscerally aware of how large the gap could be between logical understanding and the tempest of emotional reaction.

She knew he was still coping with the uncomfortable revelation that he'd been walking around with poison inhabiting the very fabric of his body, _sleeper cells_ \- in a grim, literal sense - biding their time. It had to be an eerie brush with mortality that Han was unaccustomed to - his other near-death experiences were more obvious, explosive and conventional - and this was - not quite near-death at all, but a lurking, internal assault that had not only inadvertently hurt the person he loved most in the world, but hung like an executioner's ax over him now while he mulled over it.

Leia had her own anxieties about Han, and they were all tangled, knotted, bothersome - more than anything, she wanted him healthy and safe; to even think about losing him was unimaginable. It hurt beyond words. She felt as if she were balancing on a tight rope, unsteadily walking the proverbial thin line. Her first instinct was to demand Han have himself treated, immediately, all else be damned, because she couldn't stand one more second of agonizing over his well-being - yet she tried to be understanding and tactful, sensitive as she was to Han's pride, and ego.

He was reeling, and she didn't want to pressure him - but she needed him to be okay - but at the same time, she did not want him to think she was careless of his wariness in her own pursuit of motherhood, because that wasn't it at all. For the most part, Leia wasn't anywhere near the realm of considering another pregnancy right now, she was still raw, and hurt -

\- and part of her knew that Han saw that, and probably thought that losing his mind over his own medical scare, or barreling along into treatment, would somehow be irreverent of her. All things considered, she didn't really know what Han was thinking; he was his usual charming, cavalier self, for the most part - so attentive and concerned for her that, for once, it was irritating her more than soothing her, because she wanted him to be focusing on himself, too, and she was doing well - better than she'd expected herself to be.

The underlying tension of it all seemed to hide away and nest in their bedroom, of all places - much like it had suffered last year, when she and Han had been so out of sync in the weeks leading up to their visit to Varykino, their intimacy _suffered,_ first from Leia's emotional response, her physical discomfort, and now - from something she wasn't quite able to put her finger on, stemming from both of them, perhaps - but significantly from him. Charming and cavalier as he was overall, he was struggling with her in bed, holding back, lacking confidence - and Leia was at a loss as to what she could do for him, stymied as she was in feeling out of place in demanding he go get treatment, but knowing, _knowing_ that his sudden reticence about sex had to have something to do with a fear that he'd get her pregnant again, and it would hurt her.

She wanted to grab his jaw in her hand and shake him - she didn't want that to happen again either, and if that _were_ it, then why wouldn't he schedule his treatment appointment? If that _wasn't_ it - then what, _what?_ Was he just afraid she was still averse?

Alone in the kitchen in their place, barefoot, and contemplative, Leia chewed her lip, her head and abdomen both aching dully - a monthly plague that she hadn't contended with, or been used to, since she was sixteen years old and had first gone to Coruscant for a Diplomatic Academy by herself. Her mother had been piercingly realistic and adamant, and had her seen by a physician and fitted with an implant without judgment or fanfare – _whatever you do, Leia, be careful and safe and guard your heart, but the legitimacy of the succession is a concern - no babies out of wedlock._ It was one thing Queen Breha had been strict about, and often, Leia smiled to think of how prudent her mother had been, and how wildly she had overestimated Leia's teenage love life.

The rebellion had mandated contraception, a policy that Leia had thought shrewd and, as it turned out, a saving grace when she was stranded with Han prior to Bespin. Her re-acquaintance with all of the tribulations associated with her monthly courses had been brief, ending abruptly when she conceived so quickly after having the implant removed, and now it was back, irregular and frenetic, a nuisance, and an inconvenient reminder of her miscarriage.

Leia found herself battling an unholy maelstrom of hormones - her body's attempt to reclaim the normal equilibrium, as it realized she wasn't pregnant anymore, coupled with a new, less permanent birth control that she wasn't used to - coupled _still_ with the general presence of so many hormones at all, considering the implant had been so stabilizing - once or twice, in a silent fit of a mood swing, Leia had manically wondered how terrible she would have been during the war and the reconstruction if she hadn't had her hormones so blithely regulated.

She smirked dryly to realize that birth control may have been some inadvertent anti-depressant, and supposed she was glad it had worked, else she might have taken to drugs.

The general state of her fluctuating hormones wasn't helping her ability to dissect and understand what was - or wasn't - going on with Han, or between herself and Han. She bristled at him more frequently than usual, and felt both confusion and - unfounded - crushing guilt about it; unfounded, because Han never seemed to take it too personally, and confusion, because she couldn't pinpoint what was nettling her: was it solely grief, was it resentment of how he dragged his feet in getting treatment? There was friction, too, independently within her because she was still finding it alarming to - as she'd told Han – grieve healthily, and function.

It had been almost two months since their return from Corellia, and still navigation was tumultuous; the Media occasionally asked if she and Han were thinking about children, and that was a tug at the heart - she was absorbed, primarily, with Haven planning, and most did not know the reason behind her abrupt, two-week absence, but around those that did, she sometimes felt awkward, and subdued; she had a difficult time telling what was progress, and what was repression, because for so long in her early twenties she had confused repression with healing. She was unsure what was an appropriate level of sadness at this point, and then chastised herself for trying to quantify it in terms of right and wrong; she wanted to move on as well as Han seemed to, but she knew they didn't feel this the same way.

 _Mayhem_ , she thought vaguely, rubbing her palm against her shoulder as she stared at nothing, listening to the hum of appliances, _it's quiet, emotional mayhem -_ she felt uneasy today, irritable; a lifestyle holo-mag had run a fun, carefree article that used software to predict what a child of hers and Han's might look like, and Leia had seen it, felt it like a knife to the gut, and for the rest of the morning battled an urge to burst into tears - only to be told in a meeting, after lunch, that one of her vice ambassadors would need maternity leave next year.

It felt like so many blows to the head, and irrational anger flared hot - she cut short her work day with polite condolences to the few audiences she'd had left and retreated from the office - not too early, so there would be no cause for gossip, but early enough to find solitude in her home. She felt mercurial, and she didn't want to take that out on Tavska, or anyone else in the office; she felt like she could breathe, and relax, at home – even if she was nursing a sad little neediness that had struck her when she walked in the door and realized Zozy wasn't there to snuggle with her. He was at the zoologist being fixed; she and Han had done some research and found that if he wasn't, he would go off wandering to find a mate in his adolescence and on Coruscant, he might get lost or hurt – so off to the zoologist he went.

Without even Zozy to distract her, she then tensed herself up again reflecting on Han, her thoughts vacillating between tender, and consternated.

Forced to boil it down to something simple, she supposed she was supremely irritated that he hadn't set his treatment appointment yet, but she didn't feel comfortable pushing him, nor did she know how to delicately address that, or their faltering sex life, without having a messy fight that targeted the wrong issues; it was all new territory, and she was, she decided, adjusting poorly to the role reversal they had undergone, which required her to coax him out of whatever funk he was in, to decipher him, and unravel him - like he always did for her.

That in itself left her nettled. It made her feel inadequate, as if she'd been unfair to Han all these years, taking and taking and _taking_ comfort and therapy from him and never returning it if he needed it - granted, she knew Han didn't feel that way or fault her, and Han was so guarded, and skilled, at playing certain things close to the vest that she was more easily convinced he was okay - but it still perturbed her, made her chastise herself.

She had told him more than once that she was more than capable of being as much of a rock for him as he was for her -

Leia grit her teeth, quelling some flaring annoyance. It wouldn't do her any good to stand around and brood over things and work herself into a foul mood - instead, she took a breather from her thoughts, and turned to the cupboards, flinging one or two open, then shutting them - then migrating to the icebox, which she opened and peered into, uninspired, considering dinner options.

It was as if the opening of the icebox door summoned him; as if the universe was mocking her, and had to alert Han Solo that his wife was, at that moment, contemplating cooking dinner, and he had better get home and interfere if he had any interest in a satisfying meal. It wasn't that she couldn't cook, it was - that her heart wasn't in it, and her talents lingered reliably at _mediocre._

She could smell Han when he walked in the door; he must have been doing something with the wiring on the _Falcon._ The sooty, charred scent preceded him into the kitchen, where she was still standing in font of the open icebox. The latent irritation she'd been nursing all afternoon bucked up, unbidden yet flourishing. It always nettled her slightly that she, educated and autonomous as she was, found herself so at a loss for what to do about dinner when Han wasn't cooking or she hadn't ordered something - today, it _nettled_ her more than usual.

He threw his things down on the counter with no decorum and quite a bit of noise, and moved behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder. Kissing the back of her head, he murmured a greeting, his voice, deep and masculine, somehow thrilling her, and pissing her off at the same time. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of him - and at herself, for the volatility of her mood at the moment, and the feminine stereotype she was not interested in embodying - but turned her head and pressed a lopsided kiss to his knuckles.

Han reached past her and grabbed a beer from the door, backing up and leaning against the counter. She heard him twist the cap, toss the metal against the counter top - and his boots made a low scuffing noise as he crossed his ankles, staring at the back of her head. She sensed concern emanating off of him, and frowned - she wasn't sure why he was worried, and if he asked if she was all right, she didn't know how to explain it all that well.

"Leia," he mumbled warily, in a tone that suggested he sensed her mood. "Uh, there was...some blood on the sheets this mornin'," he ventured. "Was that - "

"I'm on my cycle, Han," Leia interrupted shortly, her expression pinched - and she gave a short, incredulous shake of her head, as her abdomen throbbed at her as if to underscore her statement.

She resisted the urge to slam the icebox door closed, rather grabbing something out of it for the sake of appearing decisive, and closing it gently as she turned around to face him, her lips compressed tightly. His shirt had a rip in the collar, and the material was singed and grimy; his jaw was lined with a dusting of hair, morning shadow that indicated he hadn't shaved today - he'd been doing that lately, and she hated it, if only because it indicated he was at odds with himself. Han was always clean-shaven; poor grooming was usually a subtle indication that he didn't have his head on straight.

"Okay," Han said slowly. "Figured," he added, attempting to sound breezy. "S'just," he went on, "you're home a little early, and - "

"I do that now," Leia muttered, her eyes flashing. "I feel off, I take a break. It's healthy," she reminded him.

Han fell silent, tilting the bottle back and forth in his grip ever so slightly. He lifted it to take a sip, studying her - the obvious point to be taken away from that statement was that she'd been _feeling off_ , and _that_ was what he cared about, not necessarily blood on the sheets.

Leia looked down to realize she'd grabbed a stick of wrapped butter, and grit her teeth, glaring at it moodily.

"M'just," Han started uncertainly - he didn't know how to put it.

He didn't know what was cause for concern, and what was within the realm of normal. They were past the worst of the miscarriage now, far past it - medically cleared and back to having some semblance of a sex life, though he was - sharply - aware that there was a deficiency to it that was making him more and more self-conscious by the day - but Han also had so little experience with Leia's cycle. She'd always been on something permanent that stopped it completely, and before she'd gotten pregnant, the mood swings had been kind of comical, but now he felt -

"You'd tell me if somethin' was not right, yeah?" he asked, in what he hoped was a non-confrontational tone.

Leia, who had the bursting, loud thought, immediately, that _she_ wasn't the one ignoring an internal predator, considered throwing the butter at him -

"It's normal," she snapped, evidently trading one caustic thought for an equally caustic verbal assault, "act like you've slept with a woman before."

Han's reaction was immediate. He drew back a little, his mouth tightening. He pointed at her sharply around the neck of his ale, his eyes narrowing darkly, and fired back, without hesitation:

"Get over yourself."

He wasn't loud, and he wasn't as malicious as he probably could have been; in fact, she wasn't sure if it was a reactionary response that he blurted, or if he calculated it, and said it to remind her it wasn't fair to take shots at him when all he was doing was asking after her well-being. And she - knew that; if he didn't know what the underlying cause of her caprice was, he couldn't avoid triggering it.

She stared at him, her eyes flicking to his finger, and then down to the butter - she knew she was being temperamental, and she quieted, giving herself a moment to _un_ -ruffle her own feathers and ease her hackles back down. She took a deep breath, and flicked her eyes back up, thinking about her next words - and then choosing to be forthright, and a little facetious.

"I want to throw this butter at you," she informed him. "My upbringing is restraining me."

"Throw it, Sweetheart," Han retorted, deadpan. "I'll write a tell-all and they can feature you on _Wild Wives of the Coruscant_."

She bit her lip, holding her breath for a moment - and made the conscious choice to let his joke break the tension; she smiled wryly, and lowered her hand - then snapping her wrist up abruptly and lightly throwing the butter at him, not in an offensive strike, but playfully. Han reached out, caught it deftly, and set it on the counter near his bottle cap, the tension that had flooded his face at her comment dissipating. He smirked, and shook his head, poking it, and then looking back at her with an arched brow.

"What were you thinkin' of makin' for dinner with just a stick of butter anyway, Your Highness?" he teased.

"Dinner?" Leia quoted innocently, pursing her lips. "I was looking for lube."

Han compressed his lips, obviously taken aback by the vulgar quip, but impressed nonetheless. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he studied her.

"Well," he said, scratching his chin seriously, "that'll get ya an infection."

He folded his arms, and tipped the neck of the bottle at her.

"You oughta just use spit."

Leia tilted her head, and gave him a slow smile, surrendering herself. He watched her demeanor relax, and he took a swig of the ale, nodding his head to himself in relief and falling silent. Leia folded her arms across herself, bowing her head with the smile still on her lips - she took a moment to value Han, because any number of men might have taken her handful of inflammatory comments as an opportunity to fight, or to ridicule, or to storm out, yet he just gave it back to her and stood there, stubborn and unrelenting.

She looked back up, and Han was finishing up the ale - she arched her brows a little, as he set aside the now empty bottle and ran the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Gonna ask you again," he muttered. "You okay?"

Leia sighed heavily, her arms pressing into her rib cage. She nodded curtly.

"I'm not askin' just to bug you," Han said.

"Mmhmm," she agreed under her breath, and parted her lips to give another sigh. "It _is_ just my cycle," she said shortly, her voice softening towards the end, "which is," she lifted her hands and gestured at her head tensely, "what it _is_ on its own, you know," she said vaguely - cramps, headaches, mood swings - Han nodded, and Leia scraped her bottom lip with her teeth, continuing: "it's also just - the worst, the _worst_ reminder," she growled. "I shouldn't _be_ on my cycle."

She leaned back, her spine connecting with the counter behind her. The blouse she was wearing, loose at the neck, slid off one shoulder, and her eyes drifted to her bare skin for the sake of having something to look at. She focused on it, and plucked at her elbows, feeling his eyes on her.

"I feel," she said, twitching her wrist, "trapped. Maybe...I need to get through the rest of the nine months it would have been before everything stops feeling like," she sighed, "such a slap in the face."

"We," Han offered quietly, after a moment.

She looked up and turned her head back to him.

"Yes," she amended softly. "We."

She bunched the hem of her shirt in one hand, baring a strip of skin around her hips, and kept looking at him for a long time, until he shifted a little warily - almost knowingly - and she directed her eyes upward, steeling herself.

" _We_ ," she said again, cautious, but resolved to broach the subject, "need to talk."

Han didn't miss a beat. He shifted his weight, and answered -

"Yeah."

Leia's eyes drifted back down to his. He looked rueful, and unnerved, and she faltered for a moment. She felt there was such a grey area in bringing up their intimacy issue without it sounding like an indictment of performance -

"When we have sex lately - "

Han cringed, letting out a soft, defeated groan.

"Yeah," he said again, interrupting her. "It's bad."

Leia blinked, caught off guard. Her lips turned up in a half smile.

"It isn't bad," she said honestly. "It's - "

Han grunted, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"S'not good," he muttered petulantly, and Leia almost laughed - but he followed it with a sullen look, and crossed his arms defensively across his chest. "S'my fault," he said under his breath. He grit his teeth, and visibly struggled with what to say next. "Didn't mean to make that sound like...you're...unsatisfying," he fumbled.

She did laugh - gently. She lifted her shoulders with quiet understanding.

"Han, I _know_ what it's like to feel," she paused to try and find the right phrasing, pressing her fingertips against her chest thoughtfully, "ahhh, anxious, in bed? Like something," her voice caught, "like something really ruined it for me, and I have to...get past that?" she licked her lips. "I know what that's like," she repeated.

Han watched her. She pressed her palm more fully against herself, kneading her collarbone lightly.

"And if what's going on with you is what I think it is," she went on, "you've got to take me to heart, because," she swallowed hard, "you're - holding back, and a little distant, and it doesn't make me feel very good," she said shakily, "about myself - and I know that's not the root of it - "

"'Course not," Han broke in hoarsely, panic flitting across his face. "Leia," he said desperately, his mouth dry, "you turn me on - so much it should be - criminal, I shoulda gotten over it already - married to you now'n I _still_ can't get a break - "

"I know, I know, I know," Leia said soothingly, a pink blush creeping up her throat.

A muscle in his temple throbbed, and she pursed her lips, giving him a moment to calm down. She wouldn't normally have chosen to ambush him when he got home from work, but it had all spiraled, and why put it off now?

"You found out about the carbon toxicity and it really got to you," she said quietly. "You're - are you anxious about me accidentally," she waved her fingers, "getting pregnant? You don't want me to hurt again?"

Han dug his knuckles into his forearm, his eyes on her heavily. He gave a curt nod.

"Keeps gettin' in my head," he said gruffly - and kept resulting in a role reversal in its own right, as Leia was, true to the age-old male-female tradition, _usually_ the one who had trouble finishing. It wasn't even that he had trouble _getting there_ , necessarily, it was more that he'd developed an aversion being inside of her when he -

"The sheets are suffering more than usual," Leia quipped softly.

Han glared at her, cringing again.

" _Kriff_ , Leia," he ground out in a dull whine.

She bit her lip with a sweet, apologetic smile.

"You have to take me to heart, Han," she repeated. "It _wasn't_ your fault. You aren't going to hurt me."

He shifted, the muscles in his jaw drawn up tightly.

"You're the one who was always sayin' the month-to-month birth control ain't that reliable," he muttered.

She nodded, lowering her gaze a little - he had her there, but at the same time, it was still reliable - the difference was a few measly percentage points high in the ninetieth percentile.

"Han," she said huskily, studying his expression carefully, "if you're that torn up about this, if it's messing you up this badly - why haven't you scheduled your bacta treatment?"

She asked - and she was relieved she'd been able to get the question out without it being irritable, or sounding selfish or demanding. He was open, and more willing to talk than she had anticipated - and she suspected that on some level, he was relieved she brought it up, because it saved him from feeling like he was burdening her by pointing out a problem. She wished he'd get over him _self_ , on that front, and remember what she said about her not having a monopoly on neurosis in this marriage.

Han reached up and scrubbed his hand across his forehead, running it down to his jaw. He looked conflicted, guilty again, and just plain wary. He shook his head and frowned, folding his arms tightly again.

"Listen, Leia," he started grudgingly. "I, uh...I know I been draggin' my feet on that," he mumbled. He glanced away from her, looking guardedly at some of the cabinets. He cleared his throat. "I was kinda...waitin' on you, I guess, 'cause I thought you might feel like I was pressurin' you if I got it done and then just...jammed it down your throat that I was ready to go," he muttered.

She pressed her lips together, listening.

"'Cept...that's not all of it," he admitted. She watched him grimace, and then he cleared his throat roughly. "Don't really want to tell you this, 'cause it makes me a pretty big son of a bitch," he said dryly, "but...thinkin' that way, like I was thinkin' about you...gave me a reason to put it off," he muttered, "'cause it doesn't sound like a hell of a lot of fun."

Leia breathed out slowly, and silently, taking his words to heart. She felt no animosity or resentment at that, just understanding; Han sounded human, like any person who looked at an invasive, probably debilitating, medical procedure, and balked - and even worse, Han felt no negative symptoms, and had nothing as abysmal as impending death driving him.

She reached up to draw her fingers through her loose hair, and then placed her palms on the counter behind her, boosting herself up on it. She brushed off her knees, and placed her hands on the edges of the counter, leaning forward to look at Han intently.

She supposed she ought to be angry with him for avoiding it because it would be unpleasant, but she'd been subjected to enough unpleasantness in her life to feel, deeply, how difficult it was to voluntarily go through it. His confession made her think of the mental gymnastics it had taken for her to reach out to her doctor in the first place, and ask if she was able to have a baby – it had felt like inviting pain she didn't really need to face.

Han scuffed his foot on the floor loudly, restless under her gaze.

"I _was_ thinkin' about you," he said after a moment, "but about my self, too – "

"Han," she interrupted quietly.

He clamped his mouth shut, and she bit her lip, taking her own deep breath.

"Come here."

He looked up at her, his eyes narrowed, and hesitated, as if waiting for the catch. When it didn't come, he pushed away from his counter and strolled forward to her. He cocked his head, arching a brow lightly as if to say – _here I am, now what?_

She straightened her shoulders a little.

"I haven't – pressured you on this, because I know it…is distasteful," she said softly, "it's ugly – and I haven't wanted you to think all that matters to me is having a baby."

Han nodded, lifting his shoulders.

"It's never – been that," Leia said, her eyes stinging. "Having a baby _with_ you is important to me, but having a baby for the sake of it isn't, and that has never changed. I haven't wanted you to think that I just need you," she laughed uncomfortably, "cleansed, for me to…use you as a breed…stallion."

Han gave her a funny look, and tilted his head to the other side.

"I know," he said, resting his hands on hers.

Her knuckles flexed under his touch.

"It _has_ been bothering me, though, that you haven't made efforts," she admitted shakily, "because it scares me that you're still being affected by that, that, _venom_ ," she spat, and then stopped, swallowing hard. Her jaw ached as she tried to keep herself composed, and she reached for his waist, tucking her hand into his belt. "The thought of losing you is paralyzing – "

"I know, Sweetheart," he said, his shoulders falling – he hunched over, coming to rest his forearms on the counter near her, and tilting his head up to watch her speak.

"I need you to get that treatment," she whispered, "for selfish reasons, but not the ones you would think – "

"I don't think it's selfish, 'M the one bein' selfish, s'just – "

"Hard," Leia broke in, reaching up to touch his jaw lightly. She nodded – she wasn't entirely sure what it would consist of, but bacta tanks were unpleasant to begin with, and she doubted that bone marrow treatment involving bacta was much better.

He looked a little pale. He hesitated, his mouth dry, then swallowed hard –

"I don't like…thinkin' about how bad I felt after you got me out of that stuff," he said in a strained voice. "I'd rather be shot."

She nodded, her lips pursing.

His forearms still rested on the counter next to her thighs, and he remained bent at the waist, though now he bowed his head so low, it was almost in her lap. She tilted her head and watched over him, running her hands lightly through his hair.

Han pressed his forehead into her ribs, then tilted his head and kissed her sternum through her blouse, slowly lifting his head. As he did, her fingertips slid down his cheeks to his jaw, holding his face in her hands.

"It's going to be okay, Han," she soothed confidently, raising her brows.

He nodded, sliding his hands closer, pressing his knuckles gently against her hips. He nodded again.

"I know," he mumbled, for the third time. He inched a little closer, his chest pressing onto her knees and she shifted forward a little from her perch on the counter, fingers sliding into his hair again.

"Are you scared?" she asked.

Han didn't say anything. He twitched his shoulders, and Leia smiled a little to herself, biting her lip.

"Does it make you nervous?" she rephrased, humoring him – she couldn't remember a time Han had ever admitted to her that he was scared, but the most striking fear she'd ever seen in his eyes had been there when the Stormtroopers hauled him away on Bespin – fear, she understood, not of what would happen to him, but of what would happen to her.

Han nodded. He slumped down and rested his head in her lap for a moment, and she was struck by how much physical reassurance he seemed to need - and she was happy to give it. Her hands moved soothingly through his hair, and he rested there until his back started to complain about the position; then, he took a deep breath and straightened a little, eye level with her.

He gave her a sultry smile, and she pushed her forehead against his, giving a soft, long suffering sigh.

"I'm – we're – handling this, but we're moving like we're in…molasses," she whispered, her shoulders falling tiredly. "That treatment is like an…awful reminder, but we can't move on," she broke off, and Han nodded, his nose brushing hers before he pulled away a little.

He tapped his fingers on the counter, his brow furrowed.

Leia still brushed a hand through his hair – she wondered if he, too, was wary of their whole lives becoming about fertility; if the magic would be sucked out of their relationship, the heat drained out of their romance, if they let this consume them – but it wouldn't be like that. She was, despite what it meant for Han, heartened by the prognosis for them in this regard.

She had sparks of hope; even if they were simmering in the back of her mind, ready to be called on when she felt ready.

He narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully, tilting his head back into her touch.

"How bad _have_ I been in bed lately?" he murmured, and he said it so seriously, and so lazily, that Leia almost wasn't sure if he'd actually said it.

She gave him a little smirk, catching her tongue between her teeth.

"Han, I am a blessing and a curse to you on a nightly basis," she teased affectionately, pursing her lips when he arched a brow curiously. "Your lot in life is that you are both the best, and by default, the worst, I have ever had."

Han looked at her with an unreadable expression for a moment, and then grinned, a little colour coming into his cheeks, the light flickering back in his eyes. He shrugged charmingly.

"Takes the pressure off," he drawled.

She placed her hand on his cheek, and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips, relief running through her at how the conversation had gone – her irritation faded; her head even felt a little better, and when Han straightened up, stepped closer, and wrapped his arms around her to pull her flush against him, she felt she had re-harnessed a bit of her emotional mayhem.

* * *

As she and Han sat patiently – or, impatiently, in his case – in Dr. Mellis' office, Leia took note of the obvious parallel of the moment. The last time they had been here, it was she who paced, anxious and filled with dread, at the prospect of hearing rest results; now, Han was the restless one. She had thought he might drag his feet still, even after their honest conversation; but merely a few days later he had come home and muttered that he made the appointment he needed to for a quick consult, and a few invasive baseline tests.

Instead of pacing the office as she had, he sat stiffly – and they weren't particularly concerned about _results_ , they knew the problem, just not the specifics of what treatment was going to entail.

That, Dr. Mellis had told them, would be guided by a detailed analysis of the samples of Han's bone marrow and spinal fluid she had taken – an analysis which was to be discussed with them in this very office today.

In one of the chairs before Dr. Mellis' desk, Han sat up straighter than usual, gingerly favoring his left hip – it was nastily bruised, and sore, from the bone marrow aspiration he'd had earlier this week.

She kept fighting the urge to offer him a pillow. Because she knew him so well, she knew how much he hated this, and would loathe any coddling or reference to it, so she allowed him to continue with his façade. Han was so notoriously disdainful of seeking medical attention for himself – Leia was never sure if it was a point of masculine pride, or if he simply did not like feeling as if he were breakable.

Deviating from the restraint she had practiced with him in this office last time, she abandoned her own chair and took a seat on his lap, admiring the look of surprise on his face with some smugness.

He encircled her waist with one of his arms and leaned forward to kiss her shoulder, pressing his teeth playfully into her sleeve and then tilting his head up. She lifted her eyebrows at him primly.

"We're in public," he informed her seriously, throwing her own words back in her face.

She nodded.

"Mmhmm," she murmured, and looked around the empty office pointedly, her eyes resting only fleetingly on the feminine paintings, and the maternal imagery – she turned back to him, lifting one shoulder. "I had a change of heart."

"Huh," Han grunted skeptically.

Leia sighed, pursing her lips in mock resignation.

"You see, I've realized the futility of modesty around here," she said, gesturing lazily with one hand, "considering Arksiah's been about as far inside me as you have," she quipped.

She raised her brow at him.

"Further, maybe," she whispered.

"Doubt it," Han blustered, giving her a mild glare.

She gave him a look.

"Have _you_ ever touched my cervix?"

"Has _she_?" Han retorted. "Doesn't count if she didn't use her hand," he qualified.

Leia tilted her head back and forth. She shook it.

"Well, I suppose no one has, with _bare_ _hands_ , but technically she has – "

Han darted his hand between her legs, running his palm up the inside of her thigh; Leia gasped, shivering at the ticklish sensation, and crossed one leg over the other, trapping his hand between her thigh so he had a difficult time moving it.

He grinned at her.

"Jealous?" she asked.

He tried to inch his hand up higher, and she squealed softly, biting back a laugh.

"Ha- _Haaan_ ," she hissed – "You – just what do you think you're going to – "

"Touch it."

Leia laughed shortly and reached down to grapple with his hand playfully, slumping against his shoulder a little –

"You are _not_ – "

"You wanna bet, Sweetheart?"

"I do _not_ – you keep that hand to yourself – " she burst into laugher again, her face flushing, and Han grinned, turning his head to press his lips to her neck – Leia succeeded in grabbing his hand, and laced her fingers into it, squeezing tightly.

She closed her eyes briefly and rested her head on his shoulder, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

He squeezed her hand in return, shifting her a little closer to him and taking a deep breath, his brow furrowing.

"This how we flirt now?" he drawled. He grinned, his lips buried in her hair. "I threaten to touch your," he tilted his head, brow furrowing – " _cervix_?"

"It would seem so," Leia murmured, well aware of the lack of sensuality the word invoked.

"How's that for dirty talk?"

Leia lifted her head a little and kissed behind his ear –

"I can make it dirtier."

"Try me, Princess."

She poked her tongue out and ran it over his earlobe, lowering her voice seductively –

"I want you to touch it with your tongue."

Han's head reared back so he could catch her eye, and she lifted one eyebrow proudly. He slid his hand up over her back and smirked, conceding the point with a nod, his eyes searching hers intently – her distraction tactic was effective, even if he saw it for what it was.

He leaned back heavily in the chair, and winced when his back protested, aching uncomfortably. Leia brushed her knuckles against his jaw and pursed her lips, the attractive blush still colouring her face –

"You're man enough, I think," she murmured charmingly, and Han rolled his eyes upward, glaring at the ceiling before he gave a short, slow laugh.

"Layin' it on _thick_ ," he accused.

"Too much?"

He gave her a look, squeezing her hand again.

"Didn't say that," he drawled.

She flattened her palm against his shoulder, slipping her arm around his neck and her other hand into his hair.

"You're takin' pity on me, eh?" he asked, a little grudgingly. "Think I need to be coddled and distracted," he went on, arching a brow, "have my ego stroked?"

Leia held his gaze.

"Do you?" she asked softly.

Han maintained a gruff expression, though it faltered, and faded, for a brief moment, since they were alone, and his back and left side were hurting, and he was uneasy about what all this was going to entail.

He shrugged.

Instead of answering, he straightened his shoulders a little, and glanced around, his jaw tightening.

"It bother you to be in this office?" he muttered.

Leia did not look around – she stared at his profile, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck lightly. It did leave her feeling a little drained, like it had the first time around, but she was okay – she was focused on him right now, and that was a blessing – _he_ was something to take care of.

She didn't answer him; instead, she leaned closer, pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, and slid her hand down his neck a little, working her fingers in a light massage at the top of his spine.

"'M fine, Leia," he mumbled tensely. "Don't – c'mon, don't worry about me," he shrugged. "It's me."

She kissed the corner of his mouth again, flicking her eyes up, a reprimand on her lips – when the door opened, and in walked Dr. Mellis, with both her midwife apprentice, and the immunologist researcher she had brought in.

Han's grip tightened on her as he whipped his head around. Despite the arrival of outsiders, Leia did not immediately take her hands off Han, or make an effort to remove herself from his lap – she valued her privacy, but she also had little interest in reacting as if there was something abnormal about her showing affection to her husband.

Rather than leaping away from him as if burned, she finished her kiss, and then straightened up, her eyes following as Dr. Mellis and her retinue snugly shut the door, and made their way around the desk – Mellis taking a seat, the other two standing with her.

Han's grip loosened, and Leia slid forward, her feet finding solid ground. She still made no effort to move, for the time being, just leaned against him lightly, her eyes calmly on the trio before her. Han slouched back in his chair, evidently deciding the discomfort in his hip was worth suffering, so that he might look unconcerned, and his hand hovered around her hip, no doubt enjoying having her there.

"Leia, Han," Dr. Mellis greeted warmly, folding her hands on the desk and leaning forward with a wry smile. "I had read a deeply scandalous article that suggested divorce was on the horizon for you two," she quipped, "I am delighted to instead see you appear to be quite infatuated with one another."

Han snorted.

"We only get divorced when the news cycle is dry," Leia answered, deadpan.

She ran her hand over Han's shoulders a few more times, and then she did stand, her fingers sliding off of him lightly. She resumed her seat next to him, dragging her chair forward, her attention fixed sharply on Dr. Mellis, her brows set, and her expression steeled.

The doctor smiled at her, and gestured at her associates.

"You know Nygura, my apprentice, and Dr. Soivrin," she said, politely, but with dismissive formality. "Less familiar with Dr. Soivrin, I believe – did she step in for a moment when you had the marrow aspiration?" Dr. Mellis asked Han.

"Briefly," Leia answered, giving a nod to the woman.

Dr. Soivrin returned the nod, bowing forward at the waist slightly – she spoke rarely, and had been reticently professionally when Leia had a quick introduction to her a few days ago.

"I appreciate you trusting me to bring in her expertise," Dr. Mellis said, holding her palm out to Leia with gratitude. "I know how important it is to you that your healthcare be kept privileged and how selective you are about who is brought into the fold."

Leia nodded, and Dr. Mellis gestured at her colleague.

"I assure you again that Dr. Soivrin has impeccable discretion," she complimented, "in fact, she barely speaks to me."

"Debilitating shyness, Arksiah," Dr. Soivrin spoke up, deadpan and dry.

Nygura smiled, bringing her hand up to her mouth, and Dr. Mellis nodded, leaning back. She held out her hand for the datapad Soivrin was holding, and arched her brows.

"I suppose we ought to get down to it," she remarked.

"You're familiar with my distaste for – mincing words," Leia retorted dryly, and Han glanced over at her, willing her to look at him before they started.

She did, and gave him a soft smile, reaching out to brush her palm against his knee before turning back to the trio, and nodding shortly.

"Right," Dr. Mellis said. Behind her, Soivrin leaned against the office window stiffly, and Nygura turned to sit on the edge of the desk, both of them relaxing a little to take the formality out of the atmosphere.

Dr. Mellis tapped some things on the datapad, then leaned forward and spoke to them frankly.

"The analyses we ran on the aspirated marrow only further confirmed what I had already told you after the fetal tissue analysis," she said, and tilted her head at Han, "that Han has an unnatural level of carbon concentration in his marrow, and while his body is acclimated to it as it stands now, it will negatively affect any attempts at conception and could begin to affect his health down the line."

She looked at Han wryly.

"So, ah, sorry to subject you to the aspiration, as it told me nothing new," she said.

Han shrugged.

"Don't mention it," he said dryly.

Mellis smiled a little ruefully, and gestured to Soivrin.

"Dr. Soivrin – "

"Mixi," Soivrin supplied cordially.

"Mixi," Dr. Mellis amended, "performed an intensive analysis of what sort of bacta concentration would be needed to effectively cleanse Han's system, and subjected a sample of Han's marrow to a small scale version of the treatment – which was successful."

Leia compressed her lips, sitting back a little. Her shoulders loosened – she was unaware that she'd been quietly harboring a fear that after all this, she was suddenly going to be told that Han couldn't be helped after all, and they would just have to live with this, and see if one day it thoroughly destroyed his system, never mind prevented her from having a baby with him.

"She's extrapolated the appropriate regimen to give to you, Han," Mellis said, honing in on him, "in order to eliminate the carbon from your system. As you already know, that means intravenous bacta-based cell therapy," she paused, "do you have _any_ familiarity with that?"

Han stared at her, and then seemed to realize she actually wanted him to answer. He arched his brows, and then looked over at Leia.

"Uh," he muttered unhelpfully. "Been in a bacta tank," he answered slowly, "so's she," he added, jutting his elbow out at her. He frowned, and shook his head.

"Yes, many people have, at some point," Dr. Mellis said kindly. "This is somewhat different. Less unpleasant in some ways, and more unpleasant in others," she said dryly, leaning forward on her arm. "We often treat immune-based diseases this way, cancers, T-cell infections," she listed – "since the integration of carbon into your marrow is essentially a sort of…cancer, that's why this fits."

Han leaned forward his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his hands together and shrugged.

"Yeah," he said. "What's the deal, then?" he asked gruffly.

Leia gave him a look, but Dr. Mellis didn't seem bothered by the irreverence. She pointed at Soivrin, indicating she should speak, and the other doctor cleared her throat.

"I am going to administer a regimen consisting of three rounds of deep marrow bacta therapy," she said – in much the same tone as Han was using, and Leia arched a brow appreciatively – how Dr. Mellis had managed to choose a discreet doctor who was possessed of the exact rough attitude Han probably most needed was beyond her, but she appreciated it.

"The first round will be mild, to introduce you to the intensity of this sort of bacta," she explained, "the second round will be more targeted, and the third will be the most intense, and will flush the carbon out completely – given that this is not a cancer, I doubt there will be need for a supportive fourth round in a few months – this treatment should comprehensively eradicate the problem."

Soivrin folded her arms, tilting her head to the side.

"Roughly two weeks after the last round, I'll examine your marrow again to confirm it's returned to what is medically considered normal for a human – following these treatments, you may find you're more susceptible to flus and minor poxes while your immune system readjusts."

Listening, but watching Han subtly, Leia absorbed all of that – and studied him out of the corner of her eye as he listened. He kept his eyes on Soivrin respectfully, if a little coolly, and when she had stopped speaking for a good minute, he shrugged again, and nodded.

"Intense bacta, three rounds, needle," he glanced at Leia, "got it," he muttered."

Leia leaned forward on her own knees, tapping her fingers against her lips for a moment. She shared a look with Dr. Mellis, and then transferred her gaze slowly to Soivrin, sensing there was a little more. She bit the inside of her lip, and then cleared her throat, lowering her hand and rubbing her palm on her thigh.

"Side-effects?" she asked softly.

She lifted her chin, and closed her eyes a moment.

"I – can't help asking this. Is there any…possibility that," she broke off, grimacing when she found her voice was shaking, "it could…hurt him?" she asked. "If he has a bad reaction?"

Dr. Mellis leaned back, looking up at Soivrin again. Soivrin set her shoulders back.

"As a medic, you will never hear me unequivocally assure you that nothing could go wrong," she said honestly, "however, given my research, and experience with marrow diseases and intravenous bacta, I'm comfortable telling you that you have very little to worry about, Your Highness," she said easily. "There _are_ going to be side-effects, but if anything – fatal – were to happen, well," she arched her brows earnestly, "I would be genuinely shocked."

Han flicked his wrist shortly, his eyes narrowing.

"Leia," he grunted.

"Yes?" she asked quietly.

"No," he corrected, pointing at Soivrin, shaking his head. "'M talkin' to her. It's Leia. She doesn't like bein' called by her title by doctors," he said, adding, pointedly: "Mixi."

Leia sat back, giving him an exasperated look – he was right, but she hadn't been particularly concerned about it in that moment, especially since the doctor in question wasn't between her legs - but she supposed Han was harnessing control, somehow, and the way he usually established his dominance was by exhibiting knowledge of her, and exercising his position as – well, as her defender.

"Understood," Soivrin answered, unflinching.

Leia sighed, sparring a glance for Nygura, who smiled at her breezily, and then pursed her lips, her gaze drifting back to Soivrin for a moment before she looked over at Han, eyes on him softly.

"The side-effects," she prompted again. She nodded at Han sharply. "He isn't going to ask about them, as it would interfere with how blasé he is being."

Leia thought Han might be annoyed with that comment, but he sat back, and grinned a little wryly, shrugging as if to reinforce that notion. He lifted his hand and jabbed his thumb at Leia, nodding –

"My wife is worried," he drawled, and Leia almost laughed – she wrinkled her nose, and played the part.

Though – playing that part was not difficult; she _was_ worried. She was also determined, and empathetic to Han's firm desire to be – nonchalant, lest he otherwise be overwhelmed.

The charade drew a small smile out of Mixi Soivrin. She inclined her head in understanding, and then crossed one ankle over the other as she began to offer insight.

"The benefit of not being _submerged_ in bacta means you won't be tasting it for days," she said, "that is…where the benefit ends," she offered, matter-of-fact. "You'll likely have muscle pain, migraines, nausea, dizziness, fatigue," she listed. "You're going to feel weak and, to put it simply – plain old _not good_."

Soivrin hesitated.

"I also want to warn you that…given that the carbon will be flushed out, it will overwhelm your system for a short while – the bacta you'll have is fused with an inhibitor that prevents a cytokine storm reaction, but the cascade of toxins is," she paused, "likely to cause a relapse of carbon poisoning," she said.

Leia winced, flicking her eyes downward unhappily.

Soivrin grimaced herself.

"I am admittedly unfamiliar with what that entailed for you, other than what I read in the medical file provided to me by the Rebellion," she said slowly, "I know it was unpleasant, and I can say that this is unlikely to be as severe, but it will mimic what you experienced then."

Taking a deep breath, Leia looked over at him.

Han looked grim, his jaw tight, and expression guarded – and she sensed that he'd been dreading hearing exactly that. He rarely discussed his feelings regarding the carbon poisoning, but having been at his side during the worst of it, she knew how miserable it had been.

The very thought of experiencing it again had to be – daunting, and Leia's heart ached; she wished she could tell him not to worry about it, that there was no need to go through this for her – yet it still remained that if they removed their desire for a baby from the equation, his health was still a factor.

Tense, she got up, and paced around behind his chair, forgetting herself for a moment, and loosely draping her arms around his neck. She leaned forward and kissed his temple, pressing three gentle kisses there. She pressed her palms against his chest, resting her cheek on his head briefly, and Han pulled away, arching his brows and giving her an amused look.

"There's people watchin' us, Princess," he informed her, feigning secrecy.

He shot a look at the audience.

"You know how much you'd make, sellin' holos of this?" he asked dryly.

Dr. Mellis laughed.

"This is a safe place, Han; you're well aware of that," she said mildly.

He reached up and squeezed her hand, a resigned, stiff expression on his face – and again, he gave one of those shrugs meant to convey indifference, acceptance – stoicism.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "Second dose of carbon poisoning, sounds like a dream," he muttered sarcastically. He narrowed his eyes. "Is it gonna blind me again?" he asked grudgingly. "'Cause if it is, you gotta help me convince her," he gestured behind him at Leia, "to walk around naked for the next week."

Leia whipped her hand against his chest, smacking him lightly, tilting her head to glare at him.

"I don't anticipate blindness," Soivrin said wryly. "That seemed to be more of an effect of you not using your vision, rather than a carbon effect – otherwise, you'd probably have stayed blind."

Han nodded curtly.

Dr. Mellis waited a beat, and then picked up her datapad, glancing at Soivrin, and then picking up with her own thread of the conversation.

"All that remains is to schedule the sessions – I'm familiar with the demands of your schedule, Leia," she said. "I'm less familiar with Han's – but I am more than willing to arrange for this to take place outside orthodox hours if you would like to be with him."

Dr. Mellis tapped a few things out on her datapad expectantly, and then caught Han's eye.

"Weekends, evenings, days…?" she asked.

"Doesn't really matter," Han muttered. "They don't keep track of me."

"My availability is not an issue," Leia murmured dismissive.

Han tilted his head back.

"You don't have to be there," he said, shrugging. "S'nothing."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You think you're going to sit around, hooked up to a needle drip, by _yourself_?" she asked dangerously, her brow darkening.

"C'mon, Leia, don't stress yourself," he muttered. "Chewie'll bum around – "

She jabbed her knuckle into his collarbone pointedly, glaring.

"You barely left me alone when I had a sprained _ankle_ ," she hissed at him. "I will be there, Han," she declared sharply. She pinched him lightly. "I took vows."

She held his gaze, trying not to feel insulted, or hurt, at his apparently unwillingness to have here there – but she didn't think it was unwillingness, at the core. She sensed that he didn't want to make a big deal over it because he couldn't stand the whole thing in the first place – it was more damaging to his psyche than he let on that he had something – _wrong_ with him – and all of this was clinical, sterile – ungainly.

Han gave a little nod, and turned back to Mellis with yet another of his shrugs.

"No point in puttin' it off," he said gruffly. "When's the soonest?"

Dr. Mellis smiled at him, and Soivrin and Nygura leaned forward to put their heads together with her, perusing the schedule, and beginning to offer suggestions to him.

The rest of their time in the office was spent finalizing details, which Leia handled – it assuaged her need to feel in control of things – and things were settled without much fuss, resulting in both of them leaving Dr. Mellis' office with the conflicted feeling of being simultaneously burdened, and unburdened.

At least – Leia assumed Han felt that, as well; he was pointedly silent, once it was all said and done, and because she supposed he wasn't dealing with anything they hadn't already discussed, she let him have that silence – until he didn't protest when she offered to fly home.

Before igniting the engine, she turned to him, one hand on the speeder steering, the other reaching out for him, brushing down his chest, and then hooking into his belt and holding on tightly for a moment.

She studied his profile intently, swallowing hard, and she realized that for the past week, she hadn't been struck so hard with grief, the urge to cry, melancholy over the miscarriage – she'd been absorbed in preparing for this.

"Han," she started quietly.

He looked over at her, his jaw set, eyes hardened.

"Sorry," he said gruffly.

She parted her lips in silent question, taken aback. He twitched one of his shoulders.

"For startin' to blow you off, in there," he clarified under his breath. "I want you with me," he muttered haltingly, and then grimaced at himself. "I want the whole damn thing over with, Leia," he admitted roughly.

She tightened her fingers.

"I know," she murmured – she really knew; she remembered, clearly, how painstakingly slow things had seemed to move when she was miscarrying; it never seemed to end, and _this_ tangential pain was still plaguing them, a stumbling block to recovery.

He nodded, and then looked over at her, and leaned over, gesturing. He shook his head.

"Switch with me," he grunted. "Let me fly home," he decided – making a face as if he'd just realized what he'd done, relinquishing control.

She raised her eyebrows, and then smirked a little – and nodded, switching seats with him in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs that left half of her hair untucked from its braids, and his vest sitting crookedly on his shoulders. He grinned – an authentic one – and straightened it a little, leaning over to tug her into his side.

Leia relaxed into the embrace, tilting her head back and closing her eyes – over with; she wanted the whole damn thing over with, too, and so they soldiered on, confronting unsavory, and bearing it.

* * *

Leia was not particularly well versed in sick bed protocol - or rather, as Han would likely have a stroke to hear it called his sick bed, she was not well-versed in what one did when accompanying someone to treatment. She had no template for it - she hadn't even experienced what it was like to attend hospice for an ill relative, or care for a comrade injured in battle; all of the morbidity and mortality she had experienced had been sudden; violent, explosive, and swift. The closest thing she had to go by, she supposed - _was_ the incapacity Han had faced with his first bout of carbon sickness - but this was different; Han wasn't visibly ill, he felt nothing, for the time being.

She - they - were merely here, in a secluded, private treatment room within Dr. Mellis' practice - ready to start a treatment, and anticipating the worst of it.

There was an awkward unpleasantness to showing up at a doctor's office and offering oneself up for an invasive procedure - particularly when the only outward symptom of the problem had negatively affected someone _else._ It was bewildering, and Han seemed unnerved at the core, though he was exercising extreme control over himself, fronting a cavalier, roguish attitude.

At the moment, they were alone in the treatment room they had been directed to, and as a result his bravado had slightly - only slightly - diminished. Refusing to sit, he had draped himself over the high back of a comfortable leather armchair, leaning on it lazily, and was giving her a dry look, one eyebrow raised.

"Y'know who's got it pretty damn good?" he drawled.

"Hmm?" Leia murmured, her arms crossed, leaning against the frame of the bed behind her - the room was sterile, and sparsely decorated. It consisted of several cozy chairs, pristine arrays of various medical supplies, a standard med center bed, intercoms, and a state of the art holo system for entertainment purposes.

"Zozy," Han said, deadpan.

Leia arched her brows at him.

"Zozy," she repeated, tilting her head. " _Zozy_ has it better than you?" she prompted.

Han gave her a pointed look, and she bit her lower lip, smiling slowly, as Han pointed out -

"He didn't have a clue what he was in for when we took 'im to the zoologist."

"You're jealous of Zozy?" she teased.

"Ignorance is bliss," Han maintained stubbornly. "Little guy just," he waved his hand, "rolled around, playin' with toys, snugglin' up to you, all happy," Han shook his head. "Think he'd have been that carefree if he knew he was about to get his balls cut off?"

Leia laughed softly. She shrugged, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"You aren't being castrated, Han," she reminded him.

Han nodded, but muttered something under his breath. Leia turned to look at the door, impatient with waiting - a two-onebee had shown them in, a nursing tech had briefed them, and here they waited, as materials were gathered, and things were organized to set it all in motion - it was late in the afternoon, in the dwindling work hours, strategically scheduled so that if Han's reaction was severely adverse, he had no obligations to prevent him from going home and resting.

Leia had mandated that for the next two weeks, no events or meetings outside of standard hours be placed on her schedule, and Tavska had been given a shallow overview of the situation, so she knew that Leia might need to take unexpected personal days if things were more gruesome than expected. In the event that was impossible, or some legitimate crisis arose that demanded Leia's attention, Chewbacca was on high alert, having dealt with carbon sickness before, and Bail had offered to assist Leia in anyway she needed, whether it be standing in for her, or seeing to it that she had what she needed at home.

Leia pressed her palms into her forearms, looking around - despite how unsavory it was to be in a place this clinical, the rooms that made up Dr. Mellis' practice were mellow, and set her mind at ease; she had always been personally comfortable here, and she found herself bitterly wishing she'd been here when she was going through the worst of her miscarriage - it might have kept an already harrowing experience from being tainted with the horror of that faceless doctor she tried not to think about.

"Leia," Han said dully, his voice echoing loudly in her head. "You're pale," he noted, his voice heavy, and his eyes sharp.

She took a deep breath, looking back at him, and lifted her shoulders lightly.

"I don't like this," she admitted simply.

He snorted under his breath.

"Me neither," he muttered.

She nodded, her gaze drifting over him, fixed first on the lines of his face, the slope of his shoulders - and then the details of the chair he leaned on.

"It's so," she began, her voice softer, " _unfair._ I can't shake that feeling - it's petulant, and it isn't doing me any good - but it isn't fair," she murmured.

She looked up at him again, her jaw tightening.

 _"You're_ the one who helped me realize that I couldn't let _Vader_ influence my decision to have a baby," she said softly. "I wanted it to be one thing that wasn't - contaminated by him, or the Empire - and I thought it _would_ be, when it was," she sighed, looked down at her arms, "so easy to get pregnant."

Leia swallowed hard.

"I know it turned out that the ways he tortured me didn't damage me like I thought, and in the grand scheme of," she unfolded her arms and gestured aimlessly, "all of it, this treatment is an easy solution - we're not even _close_ to facing the troubles some couples do - troubles my parents endured," she trailed off for a moment. "It's still something _Vade_ r did," she went on hollowly. "He put you in that carbonite. He sowed that infection - and it _still_ plagues us; the Empire, all of it," she broke off again.

Leia reached up, and tucked loose wisps of hair behind her hears, lowering her hands to press them against her neck. She compressed her lips, staring at nothing for a moment, and then blinking, her focus back on his deep brown eyes.

"I can't stand it," she admitted huskily. "It never seems to end, their - their haunting of us," she shook her head, her jaw aching tensely. "I wanted this to be," she gestured at her abdomen, lower her head heavily, "pure."

Han brushed his knuckles under his chin, nodding. He couldn't argue with that - he wanted, more than anything, for everything to have just gone right, one single, fucking time - and then, for the rest of their lives, he'd wanted it to go exactly how it was supposed to. He didn't want to be standing here, waiting for some tech to stick a bitch of a needle in him and subject him to a carbon poisoning redux. What he wanted was to be at home, or on the _Falcon_ , still in a state of nervous anticipation about impending fatherhood; what he _wanted_ was to have never had to stand at Leia's side while a medic tried to detect a heartbeat that was no longer there.

He straightened up a little, placing his hands on the back of the chair.

"Doesn't matter that it hasn't been pretty so far," he said gruffly. "You got that?"

She tilted her head, breathing in slowly.

"Yeah," she said softly.

He arched a brow.

"Know what 'm gonna say?" he drawled.

Her breath came out in a rush, and she laughed lightly, tapping her foot as she nodded.

"Marriage is gross," she quoted.

"Revolting," Han said, deadpan.

Leia looked at him through her lashes, and smiled. She pursed her lips – and then turned her head at the sound of the door opening, nerves crawling up her spine and drawing chill bumps out on her skin.

She compressed her lips tightly, and the entering nurse, with Dr. Soivrin at her heels, shut the door. Each of them had medical carts with them, and Leia noted there was no droid in sight – she wondered if Dr. Mellis had decided against the presence of droids because Nygura had related Leia's issues with the medical droid to her.

She felt a little relieved at that thought, and forced her shoulders to relax.

"Leia," Soivrin greeted with a cordial nod, "Han," she said. "I will tell you what I tell all of my patients: I am sorry to see you again," she quipped.

Han smirked at her dryly; Leia shifted, turning to lean her hip against the frame of the bed as she watched them take their equipment over to the chair and begin to set up.

"I won't ask if you're ready, either," Soivrin said in her same mildly acerbic tone – which Leia had begun to notice was the norm for her. Soivrin plucked a harmless looking intravenous bag of thin, fluid bacta from her cart, holding it up with a dry expression – "Instead, I'll ask if you've braced yourself."

Han snorted.

"Braced," he said flatly.

"Very convincing," the tech said, with an amused giggle.

She gestured to the chair.

"You can sit down there," she said, "or you can sit up in bed – you might feel dizzy, or sleepy when it starts to kick in – "

"Chair's good," Han said hastily.

Leia lifted her chin ruefully.

"You aren't going to get him into bed for a needle drip," she warned wryly. "It would devastate his street cred."

Han grinned, and sat down in the chair, holding his arm out rather lazily. He yanked at the sleeve, rolling it all the way up to the crook of his elbow, then pushing a little further.

He looked between Soivrin and the tech pointedly.

"You waitin' on somethin'?"

Leia pushed away from the bed and paced forward, loosening her arms slowly. She lifted one hand up to brush her lips, watching Han's arm, and glanced around, her gaze sharp, and observant.

"If you're ready, we are," the tech said. She picked up a strip of sturdy dark red rubber from her tray, and turned to Leia, bending forward gracefully at the waist. "My name is Kettsy," she introduced. "I'm the two-onebee," she offered with a smile, lifting her eyes to Leia's with a supportive nod.

When she turned to Han, she held up the device in her hands, and assured him with a wink:

"My hands are much warmer than a two-onebee's."

She stepped forward, pointing to his arm, starting to speak – and then straightened up, turning around with a mortified look on her face. Leia tilted her head, having already caught the amused expression on Han's face.

"Leia," Han said smugly, "the nurse is flirting with me."

"Princess Leia, I am – I did not intend," Kettsy said rapidly. "We rarely have men in here and they – can be so jittery – sometimes flattery - "

Leia rolled her eyes good-naturedly, waving her fingers lightly.

"He likes it," she muttered, cocking a brow. She lifted one shoulder. "And you get to tell your friends you flirted with Han Solo in front of his wife," she added.

"I don't think I will," Kettsy said faintly, cringing as she looked over at Soivrin.

Dr. Soivrin just gave her a look, and the tech shook her head at herself, moving around to the side of Han's armchair.

"This is a rubber tourniquet," she said, showing Han the malleable thing in her hands. "I'm going to knot it around your bicep to get a clear vein in the bend of your arm," she explained.

Han shrugged, and nodded; Kettsy stepped closer, taking his upper arm in her hand.

"Have you ever injected lightening?" she asked, matter-of-fact.

Leia bit her lip when Han leaned away from the tech, an offended expression on his face.

"Amphetamines?" he growled. He shook his head. "Hell no. You know what that shit does to you?"

Kettsy turned to glance at Leia, amused.

"I thought he used to deal drugs."

"Smuggle," Han corrected aggressively, "smuggle – _spice_ , an' I never _used_ it," he protested.

Kettsy smiled, turning back to him.

"My mistake," she said smoothly, and pointed to his palm. "This procedure may feel like injecting amphetamines," she explained. "When I tighten this tourniquet down, make a tight fist with your hand; then Mixi will set the drip."

Han nodded, and the tech cinched the tourniquet on his arm – Leia watched his face intently for signs of discomfort. He only grimaced a little, flexing his arm once before making the fist she asked of him.

Soivrin stepped forward, having already readied the intravenous materials – she approached Han from the side, nudging her tech out of the way, and leaned down with a set expression.

Leia watched her lower the needle applicator to the crook of Han's arm, where his veins were angrily straining against his skin – the needle was – impressive; larger than any needle should be.

She pressed her hands against her hips, and then folded her arms again, feeling a little light headed – it wasn't the needle, though; she watched them set Han's drip, and so acutely, so _viscerally_ , she felt all the pain of why they were doing this rush back at her, threaten to overwhelm her – similar to how she'd felt when she and Han had first tried to have sex after the miscarriage.

It felt – raw, and harsh, a keen reminder – and she thought of Han's previous misery with carbon poisoning, too, and her breath nearly stopped.

She thought for a split second she was going to pass out, which would have mortified her – what happened was almost worse. She remembered once in her life, when she was eight or nine, being struck so suddenly with illness that she hadn't felt like she was going to vomit until it happened – ruining her mother's shoes, and Aunt Celly's nerves, in the process.

This was something like that – though instead of getting sick, with only a startled gasp, she abruptly, and violently, burst into tears, reaching up to clap her hand over her mouth when she realized, with shock, that those were sobs clawing at her throat.

She muffled the sound in her palm, taking a quick step backwards, trying to compose herself for Han's sake – bewildered at the way this distress had struck her out of nowhere – and Han sat forward in wide-eyed alarm, instinctively thrusting his arm out to reach for her.

He ripped the newly set needle out of Soivrin's careful hands, and right out of his arms, barely noticing it as he got up and took a step towards Leia.

"Han," Soivrin said sharply, distracted by two different issues.

Kettsy hurried over to Leia's side, her expression calm. She took Leia's arm gently, reaching up to take her hand, draw it gingerly away from her mouth, and hold it.

"Han," Leia managed finally, "sit _down_ ," she ordered.

He stopped coming towards her, concern etched all over his face –

"Sit down," she said again, her voice breaking. "You're – you're bleeding all over," she said hoarsely, her eyes drifting to the gash in his arm.

Soivrin took his shoulder and very firmly drew him back.

"The needle," Han muttered, furious with himself. "She doesn't like needles," he said, his eyes still on Leia earnestly.

"Here, turn and face me," Kettsy said, gently turning Leia. "There's no reason to watch the needle."

Leia shook her head, pulling her hand out of the tech's and lifting it to rub the bridge of her nose, momentarily unable to speak due to the flood of tears. She bit her trembling lip, taking a few deep breaths, and swallowing hard to calm herself.

"It isn't the needle," she managed finally, her voice raw.

Kettsy placed her hands on Leia's shoulders, shushing her quietly, and kindly. She ran her palms up and down Leia's arms, while Soivrin firmly re-situated Han, mopping up his blood, applying sterile strips to the needle site he'd ruined, and re-setting his needle.

"Still," she warned seriously. "Leia's alright," she said.

Han lifted his chin anxiously, fighting to stay still, watching Leia like a hawk. Kettsy seemed to be handling her all right, but he'd never seen Leia unexpectedly dissolve into tears like that, not in company, and not quite so – completely, and dramatically. He figured his own stunt, ripping out the brand new needle, was equally as dramatic - -but it was startling, it was –

"Leia," he said tensely, making an effort to sound soothing. "Talk to me."

She bit her lip again, hiding her face behind her hand. Kettsy continued to talk to her very softly, saying nothing coherent, just soft, nice words. She had no doubt seen her fair share of grieving women in this building, and she was unfazed by the outburst, even from such an iconic public figure.

"He's all set, Leia," Kettsy said softly. "The drip is set, he's good to sit there and let it work – blood's all gone, he's fine," she murmured. She paused, squeezing Leia's shoulders warmly. "I know," she said kindly, "I know."

Leia nodded – she sensed that Kettsy did, at least, understand why it was affecting her so badly – it wasn't the needle; it really wasn't; it was thinking about why they were here in the first place, it was fear for Han's well-being, it was the ache in her abdomen and heart, the itch in her arms, all those things that were still sore and tender because they'd been deprived and left hollow for the time being.

She was finally able to compose herself, and lowered her hand, nodding again at Kettsy. She took a deep breath, and brushed her hand under her eyes, turning to sit on the edge of the bed, and focusing on Han – his jaw was tight, eyes narrowed as he watched, worried about her.

Soivrin inclined her head at Leia, effortlessly acknowledging the pain, and tactfully letting Leia have it without anymore attention – she turned to make some adjustments to the meter handling Han's bacta, and then her lips turned up in a small smile.

"Very cinematic," she remarked wryly. "Fascinating, to see and know that Han Solo and Leia Organa are normal people."

Her comment was well timed, honest without being cruel, and just right – it buoyed Leia's trust in her, and drew a mild smirk out of her – reminded her she ought not to worry about her privacy here, nor should she beat herself up for having a human reaction to the stress of this.

She took a deep breath.

"Solo," she said faintly. "Leia Solo."

Soivrin inclined her head politely again. She gave a short look to Kettsy, and the tech stepped back from Leia, bending forward at the waist before she retreated.

"I'll be in intermittently to check in for the next three hours," she said demurely – there was some bustle as the two medics took their leave. "Leia, if you need anything – water, a secure comm – buzz us," Kettsy said, her parting words before she and Soivrin were gone.

Leia watched the door close, and then slowly turned her head back, her shoulders falling. She sank down into the bed a little more, sheepish, and tired, and after a moment, took a deep breath, and tilted her head to the side, meeting Han's eyes through her lashes.

He still looked alarmed, uncertain, and he was covering the crook of his arm – the secured needle – with his palm, hiding it from view.

"It's not the needle," she whispered again. "It's," she started, her palm hovering at her abdomen – "it's _why_ we're here. I wish we weren't here," she said in a small voice.

Han swallowed hard, nodding. He sat back a little; comforted somewhat to know it was no new trauma, just the slowly healing wound she was still dealing with. He relaxed his hand a little, and her eyes drifted to the bacta needle, her chest aching.

She grit her teeth, hurting, and angry with herself for hurting – she didn't want this to be about her, she wanted to be there for Han, to be – still coping _well_ with this. She took a deep breath, reigning herself in, calming herself down again, reminding herself internally – she _was_ coping well with this – there was no right way to grieve; she still had time.

"Hey, Sweetheart," he said huskily, nodding down at his arm. "You aren't gonna go through it again, you hear me?"

She heard the unspoken part of his promise – _not because of me._ She rose, and went over to him, sitting gingerly on the edge of the armchair, away from the arm with the needle in it. She knew he couldn't promise her that with utter certainty; even the doctor told them that there was always a risk – a natural, age-old, risk – but his words meant something anyway; they brought to mind the feeling of peace she received when she reached into the Force to meditate – that it wouldn't happen again, and the sadness was hers – theirs – to have, and to feel, for a little while longer.

* * *

 _-alexandra_

 _story #367_


	2. Two

_a/n: so, as you will notice, just as_ Casualty _was (counterintuitively) told almost disproportionately from Han's point of view in some of the more intense parts, this is more from Leia's._

* * *

Part Two

7 ABY

* * *

Han figured - the intravenous bacta treatment, it wasn't so bad. Thus far, it wasn't the all-encompassing hell he'd envisioned, when he heard the word relapse and immediately began psychologically reliving the toxic nightmare he'd been trapped in when he was dragged out of the carbonite and thrust back into harsh reality. Following the first round of bacta, he'd felt nothing more than moderately hung-over - and as he had been somewhat of a pro with massive hangovers back in his younger days, enduring a minor one was a breeze. To Leia's relief, the introduction to the bacta hadn't immediately knocked him on his ass; to her chagrin, he had decided it was affecting him so inconsequentially because he was possessed of an obviously superior masculinity.

He wasn't taking it easy enough for her liking, and his dashing, roguish swagger regarding how minimally he was affected had resulted in her directing several truly magnificent eye-rolls at him - though instinctively, he knew she was relieved it hadn't been gruesome thus far. She was apprehensive, still, anticipating how debilitating it might _get._ Han, however, well into his second round, had developed the smug attitude that this was a hell of a lot of talk and worry about nothin' - and he had to hold fast to that attitude, because the threat of experiencing carbon poisoning again hung over him with dark malice, a macabre noose he wanted nothing to do with.

Hangovers he could handle - carbon poisoning -

He grimaced even thinking about it, curling his fist involuntarily and feeling an uncomfortable throb of protest as his veins tightened, and the needle in his arm shifted slightly. He had balked at this, and put it off - at Leia's expense, something that still gave him some shame, despite how understanding she was - precisely because he had dreaded infirmity, dreaded anything resembling the noxious, metallic haze that had demonized his health after Jabba's Palace. He wasn't accustomed to it; he abhorred illness. He could sustain the goriest of personal injuries with little more than loud, violent swearing and a tightly set jaw; there was something honorable about battle scars, or wounds acquired in a brawl - but the more internal things? Viruses, infections, poison - if he had to describe how he felt about those things, if he was forced to use the word - he'd say it scared the hell out of him. It was more than just the frustration and discomfort of physical incapacity, it was the stigma that unarguably hovered around illness - it seemed to project weakness, inferiority; indicated that a person was at the mercy of an unseen natural foe.

Conventional wisdom taught that infirmity was an equal opportunity aggressor - not a barometer of individual strength, but a fluke dictated by indiscriminate biological factors.

Still, Han loathed it; he'd loathed the carbon poisoning then, for those reasons tangible and intangible, and he had loathed the idea of medics and clinical rooms and all of this, this - _this_ that Leia had subjected herself to without a thought, undergoing several invasive tests to analyze damages that might have taken root after the Death Star. He hadn't thought much of it back at the time. Always considering her body to be _her_ business; he hadn't, as he'd told her, given half a thought to perhaps having himself looked at, too, despite having been through some rough exposures of his own during the war. Even as he had warily shied away from making the proper overtures towards treatment, after their return from Corellia, his reluctance had been infused with guilt, knowing that he was leaving Leia bewildered and uncertain of his intentions -

\- and now that he found the treatment to be less harrowing than he had imagined or Soivrin had warned, he grit his teeth and railed at himself a bit more, for putting it off, for letting his and Leia's intimacy falter when she needed him. She had been so, so understanding, and so strong, and that made him angrier with himself - he sensed she harbored some unwarranted, misguided guilt for being the reason he was, so to speak, putting himself through this - and maybe if he'd been single, and he'd found he had something in him that was a possible ticking time bomb, he'd have shrugged it off blithely and gone ahead living life recklessly. But he was no longer that man. He had Leia, family, friends - those who depended on him - and he _wanted_ to live; he'd have had to bite the bullet eventually and gotten himself together, whether it affected their ability to have a baby or not, if only because the one thing more daunting to him than his own death was the idea of losing out on everything he and Leia were on the brink of having for the rest of their lives.

He thought of how it would hurt her to lose him, or how devastating it would be to have what was supposed to be a long, triumphant life in a peaceful galaxy cut short and - he couldn't stand it.

He berated himself for dragging his feet, and he flinched away from the petty, reluctant wariness he'd nursed about this whole thing - he'd let his own insecurities, and dislike of anything like this, scare Leia, and worry her, and he was determined to make that up to her -

Making it up to her was easy to do, with this going so well; he knew it eased her mind. She disliked seeing him in pain as much as he disliked seeing her in pain - and given her unexpected, intensely emotional reaction the first time she saw him hooked up to a needle, he was quick to blithely brush off her apologies when she reached out today to tell him she'd be late to his appointment - there was a debate running late, and the vote at the end was important - she'd only be an hour, at the most -

 _Take it easy, Sweetheart, it's fine_ \- he soothed gruffly.

He didn't mind Leia running late; he wouldn't have minded her not being there, if it would have made her feel better. As difficult as it obviously was for her to sit in a room with him and dwell on the loss that had brought them to this point in the first place, he knew she'd feel worse if she let that keep her from staying with him - he appreciated that. He wanted her there, and didn't, at the same time - wanted her there, because deep down, he hated this, and Leia herself was his safe place; he loved her, and she made him laugh and kept him sharp and distracted, and - yet, didn't want her there, because pride and ego still drove him sometimes, and his swagger and bravado fell flat when he was confined to a chair with a needle drip to his arm.

He knew it was hard on her; she had stepped out during the last session at one point, claiming to be fetching water and fruit - and she'd returned with both, her eyes red, and her mascara smudged. He refrained from mentioning it, as she obviously hadn't wanted him to, but it stuck with him, irking him that - as she'd already said - it had to be this way; that this had to interfere with their process of moving on. It bogged them down in the worst of the grief, again - twofold for her.

He'd been a little relieved that she was kept late at the Senate, knowing it meant less time she was confined to a room with him where there was little to do but think about the miscarriage, yet after hearing some of what the nurses had told him - and seeing a brief news bite on the Holo, which he'd turned off when it flashed an image of Leia holding a baby in a Senate pod, he was more anxious about her still.

Chewbacca took her place for a short while, maddening in a way Leia never was - too knowing, and too wise, he bordered on motherly, which was nothing short of obnoxious, coming from a seven-foot mass of fur.

 _[You look rough,]_ he advised, during their current game of Sabacc.

Han, only half-absorbed in the game, scowled, staring at his cards. He was having difficulty focusing on them, strategizing his plays - his vision was fine, but the lack of concentration made him paranoid, anyway. He knew it was likely a worsening symptom - and it pissed him off; he had no intention of having _worse_ symptoms - and he was distracted, thinking about Leia -

"Make a guy feel _real_ special, Chewie," Han retorted sarcastically.

 _[Your skin is white,]_ griped the Wookiee tersely, _[you are only going to feel worse,]_ he went on solemnly, and then lifted his paw, gesturing at the bed, _[you are better off laying down, or trying to sleep during this round.]_

Han glared at his hand, dissatisfied with the cards, and the suggestion. He shook his head, glancing over the cards narrowly, flexing his fist again and wincing when the needle in his arm throbbed. He frowned, lowing the cards a little.

"It's not botherin' me," he argued, "barely even gave me a damn headache last week."

Chewbacca growled at him menacingly.

 _[The medic told you herself that the first dose was for acclimation; this is a stronger - ]_

 _"_ Yeah, yeah, cry me a river, pal, 'm fine," Han interrupted in a mutter. He arched an eyebrow, and narrowed his eyes. "You just want me to fold so I don't hand you your ass," he drawled.

Chewie snorted.

 _[This is the worst round of Sabacc you have ever played,]_ he retorted snidely.

"Is not!"

 _[One of your cards is turned facing me!]_

Han looked down, outraged, and Chewie let out an amused bark, having tricked him. Han looked up, scowling, and sat back in his arm chair, chucking his hand down on the table they'd drawn up - it was a useless hand, anyway, and when he _had_ focused, he'd gotten too focused on his face card - the more he thought about Leia, the more the Queen of Air and Darkness started to look like her, and it was messing with his head. He reached up to rub his jaw, hoping Leia was alright - he'd have thought - she'd have run the other way, instead of throwing herself into a situation that ended in her holding a baby.

Chewbacca sat back thoughtfully, setting his own cards aside. He tilted his head.

 _[You are worried about Leia?]_ he asked perceptively.

Han shrugged heavily.

"Usually am," he admitted bluntly.

Chewbacca turned and looked at the powered down Holo, frowning, and thinking to himself.

 _[I can turn it back on,]_ he began, but Han just shook his head, waving his hand stiffly.

"Don't," he muttered. "It kinda," he paused, frowning, "bothers me."

Chewie made a soft, quizzical noise, and Han grunted.

"Her holdin' a baby," he answered stiffly.

 _[That is something you want - ]_

"Yeah, Chewie, that's why it bothers me," Han snapped, tensely. "I like it, and she – y'know, lost that!" He lifted his arm and waved it lightly at Chewie, making the needle obvious, jostling the bacta drip. "'Cause of me'n my dirty bone marrow."

Chewbacca shook his head slowly.

 _[I do not believe Leia blames you.]_

Han said nothing, if only because Leia preempted him, entering the room at the tail end of the conversation, and breaking into it, her voice neat and simple as she shut the door behind her.

"She does not," she said, as she turned and came slowly across the room, coming to a stop with her hip pressed against the metal foot board of the bed. "As she's told you, many times," she added softly, eyes on Han.

He looked at her sheepishly, and Chewbacca rose gracefully, striding forward and sweeping her into a warm, gentle hug. He had taken to hugging her upon sight for the past few weeks, which Leia knew to be a cultural practice from his tribe on Kashyyyk - it was custom to shower female Wookiees who had suffered the loss of a cub with embraces, and Leia gratefully accepted his efforts to share that with her. She let him hug her, and hugged him back a little tighter, taking a deep breath against his soft, familiar fur before leaning back, and giving him a small smile, and a confident nod.

 _[You look well, Leia,]_ Chewie said kindly. _[How is your heart?]_

Leia shrugged a little, tilting her head carefully. She lowered her lashes and folded her arms.

"Still healing," she decided simply, and Chewie rested a comforting paw on her shoulder.

He glanced back at Han for a moment, then gave Leia a meaningful look, which she interpreted to mean he was being his usual brash self, despite a probable onslaught of worse symptoms. Leia gave a quiet smirk, her eyes rolling affectionately. She nodded, and Chewie drew his paw back, stepping to the side and offering to go fetch them all a snack.

"Fruit," Leia murmured, nodding at Han. "Kaffe," she requested, pointing at herself.

"Whiskey," Han piped up, and Leia rolled her eyes again, while Chewbacca sparred his errant life debt a menacing glare before excusing himself to give them a moment.

Leia watched him go, her shoulders tense, and then unfolded her arms, coming forward closer to Han.

"Hi," she breathed, bending down to kiss his brow, her fingertips brushing his jaw. She met his eyes for a moment, and pursed her lips. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "The arguments ran late - the vote was too contentious to abstain," she broke off, frustrated, and Han gave her an easygoing grin, shrugging -

"S'fine, Sweetheart," he said - echoing his earlier words.

She compressed her lips, nodded - and turned her attention to his arm, her hands running over his wrist and bicep, then drifting to the needle site gingerly. Moving just to the right of that, she brushed her fingertips very tenderly first over last week's puncture point and then over the rather grisly laceration he'd given himself ripping the first catheter out.

Han leaned over, narrowing his eyes, inching his face closer to hers. He gave her a look.

"Quit _fussin_ '," he demanded menacingly.

She raised her eyes to his.

"I am not fussing," Leia retorted stubbornly, as she continued to fuss with the intravenous drip - making sure his arm was cushioned, his palm had good circulation.

He shook his arm at her, pretending he was going to rip the needle out again. She swatted at his bicep, and he glared at her. She smoothed her palm over the stiff, irritated muscles in his arm - the bruise from the injection site had spread dully up his arm, and she bit the inside of her lip at the sight of the mottled, obviously sore flesh.

"Fussing," Han growled, watching her closely - her eyes seemed okay, but she did seem introspective, frustrated, or bothered by something - the incident at the Senate, he suspected. The nurses said she'd stood up for another female Senator; a young, single mother -

Leia ignored his insistence, and his intent study of her.

"Your skin is a little clammy," she murmured to herself, pursing her lips. "If you're feeling worse, Han - "

"Fussing," he insisted, arching a brow pointedly. "You're actin' like Rouge."

Leia drew her hands away immediately, affronted. She crossed her arms and glared down at him - a rare triumph, given her stature. Shaking her head, she took a seat in the chair Chewbacca had vacated, much better suited to it than the Wookiee had been, and leaned back in an attempt to appear relaxed. She seemed on edge - though she had been restless, and anxious, the last time they were here, too. She leaned forward on her knees, her elbows balanced on her thighs, and pressed her palms together, touching the tips of her fingers under her chin.

Han tilted his head and eyed her profile, hesitating briefly.

"I heard 'bout what you did today," he ventured, deciding that it was okay to bring it up. She seemed on edge, and he wanted to hear her side.

"Hmm," Leia murmured absently, blinking vaguely. She stared ahead of her at the bed - the bed Han refused to use, as he claimed sitting up made him feel less pathetic.

Han stuck his foot out and nudged hers gently.

"Nurses're all talkin' 'bout it," he went on slowly.

"Yes," Leia said in a clipped tone. "It was playing on Holos when I walked in - already being hailed as a particularly moving publicity stunt," she muttered irritably.

She shook her head, well aware that her actions had drawn immense attention. Knowing that did not change why she had chosen to act - she was not one to complain about being seen in a positive light, particularly when such was often a rare thing for politicians; she just felt a sense of personal disappointment in herself for not having better motives.

"You helped some Senator with her baby? Showed a bunch of others up?" Han prompted. "Why'd she have the baby with her at the Senate?" he asked.

Leia gave a tight shrug. She didn't know - Senator Arkadya had brought her three month old into the grand arena, drawing plenty of attention, despite the frazzled look on her face that indicated she wanted nothing more than to fly under the radar. From the clear distress and embarrassment emanating off of Lissa Arkadya during the whole incident, Leia highly doubted it had been her first choice. She figured that, like Leia herself, Arkadya had several intervening personal crises or commitments, and knew the vote was high on the list of priorities. There had been a considerable amount of nasty grumbling and side-comments directed at her when the baby started crying and Leia -

"I did not do it to make a statement, or because I particularly want to normalize bringing infants to political events," Leia said edgily. "Lissa wasn't trying to make a statement, either, I just don't think she had anyone to take the baby."

"'M not insultin' you," Han snorted.

Leia lowered her hands, and turned her palms over on her knees, studying the lines there.

"I didn't know I was going to do it," she murmured, half to herself.

She looked up at him.

"I am being hailed as some...crusader for working motherhood, but _I_ had a moment of irritation that she brought the baby, too," Leia admitted huskily, cringing at herself. "I thought she should have stayed home with him," she trailed off shrugging. "I suppose I don't know what it's like. I don't have her problem," she said bitterly.

Han watched her thoughtfully. Leia leaned forward more heavily, pressing her weight down on her knees. Her shoulders slumped heavily.

"I think I was...irritated out of jealousy, too," she confessed softly. "There she was, with her baby, in _my_ Senate," Leia caught her lip in her teeth, closing her eyes tensely. "I went over there to," she sighed.

Her act had been simple - without making any statement, she'd gotten up, left Evaan and Tavska in her pod, gone over to Senator Arkadya's pod, and taken her baby, thinking less stress, more attention, and a distraction might calm down both the Senator, and her infant - and thinking, too, that the only thing that might keep Leia herself from going mad, listening to the crying, and feeling it, piercing and sharp, in her soul - was having something there in her hollow arms for a brief moment.

It worked, and Leia remained in Arkadya's pod for the remainder of the vote, while Arkadya gave her planet's final words and moved forward with the rules of order.

Leia frowned a little deeper, shaking her head.

"Han, it wasn't from some place of...social protest or...feminist solidarity, I - "

"You wanted to hold the baby," Han finished for her.

She sat back, looking over at him, up through her lashes. She folded her arms across her chest, and compressed her lips. She nodded.

"Yes," she admitted hoarsely. "I _just_ wanted to hold the baby."

She shook her head, chewed on her lip, and sighed quietly. Han smiled confidently. He lifted his arm and waved it, jostling the IV bag again.

"We'll fix it, Sweetheart."

Her eyes roamed over the IV, and then over his face, her lips pursing intently. She got up, and came over to check the needle again, her hand smoothing over his arm.

"Leia, so help me, if you don't quit fussing over me - "

She put her face directly in front of his, glaring at him.

"You let me fuss," she hissed.

He arched his brows, a little alarmed - and noted the slight break in her voice, just at the end. She managed a bright smile, reaching out to pat his cheek and kiss him above the brow. Han turned his head up - well - if she insisted - he didn't mind _that_ much -

She lingered close to him, her torso brushing against his arm as she safely adjusted the drip so she wouldn't get tangled in it. He watched her expression, and swallowed hard, trying to guess what she was thinking. Had it made her feel better, holding the baby? Had it bothered her, like it bothered him more than he expected, in the brief holo image he saw before he stubbornly turned the footage off?

He lifted his needle-less arm and reached over, taking her hand in his and tickling her palm before interlacing their fingers and holding tightly.

"Hey," he said, eyes on her intently. "It make you feel any better?" he asked. He drew circles on her wrist with his thumb – it didn't seem like it had.

Leia messed with the collar of his shirt, flattening it, plucking at imaginary threads. She didn't answer for a moment, but she shook her head slowly. Her eyes closed, and her nose wrinkled slightly, a face she often made when she was resisting tears. She took a deep breath.

"I thought it might," she whispered, her hands still resting comfortably at his shoulder. She kept her eyes there, before looking at him out of the corner of them. She shook her head again. "I felt terrible," she confessed, "and I had such…cruel thoughts, about Senator Arkadya," she added in a small voice, licking her lips, "her baby was an accident and she just – _got_ to have it," Leia trailed off, furious with herself.

She pressed the heel of her palm into Han's shoulder. She grit her teeth, struggling to keep it together.

"It hurt so much," she admitted softly. She leaned forward, lowering her lips to his hair – "I don't get to hold mine."

Han tilted his head up, furrowing his brow gently. She ran her hand through his hair, and then seemed to bury her face in it. It felt as if she were rubbing her nose against his scalp, and after a moment of bewilderment, he realized she was –

"Leia," he murmured suspiciously, immediately deciding she was hiding tears. "Are you wiping your face?"

She made a noise somewhere between a defeated laugh, and an indignant protest – yet she nodded.

He grinned, tossing his hair a little. She pressed a kiss to his temple and leaned back to look at him, her eyes red. She combed her hand through his hair again, smoothing it out affectionately.

She lifted her shoulders dejectedly, lifting one leg slightly to rest her knee on the arm of the chair.

"I don't want all your energy exhausted dealing with me," she said gently. "You need to focus on this."

Han looked at her patiently, tilting his head with a stubborn look.

"When are you gonna stop talkin' like that?" he asked mildly, not expecting an answer – when would she stop making remarks, few and far between as they were now, that implied he would reach the end of his rope with her?

It was impossible for him to – suddenly not want to deal with her, as she put it; and in this, in _this_ grief, especially, she was blameless – perhaps there had been times when Leia's stubborn refusal to confront her own demons, or address the meanness that came out of her when she was hurting, had made him angry, and frustrated, and feel like he had no way to get through to her or help her – but this wasn't that, and even in those times, he hadn't wanted to give up.

Leia smiled. She leaned down to give him a kiss, and then slowly lowered her leg, loosening her tense shoulders as she walked around. She turned and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning against the footboard and crossing one leg over the other.

"Otherwise, how's work?" Han asked dryly.

Leia smirked ruefully.

"All quiet on the Haven front," she murmured. "Winter and I are going to see a seamstress for her wedding gown, sometime this month," she added. "I think she's going to wear violet." She wove her arm through the metal bars of the footboard, leaning into it. "I selected parents for the Christening today," she told him.

Han gave her a wary look.

"Mila and Kier Hwor," she said. "Mila had a miscarriage last year."

Han nodded slowly.

"You sure you want to do that?" he asked carefully. "You – you do what you want, Leia," he encouraged firmly, "but – Bail says Rouge knows the ceremony – "

"I know what my father says," Leia said calmly. "I know it will be painful. Unbearable, even," she bit the inside of her lip. "I want to do it. My mother would have," she repeated – her usual refrain – "and I want to feel close to her."

Han tilted his head back heavily, accepting that – he didn't press her any further. He trusted her to know herself well enough that she'd back out if she later felt she couldn't handle the reminder.

She cleared her throat, and pointed at the bacta drip, grimacing.

"How is it today?"

"Ain't a damn thing, Princess," Han responded smugly, waving his hand.

Leia gave him a look, leaning back on the bed. She supported herself with her wrists and looked skeptical.

"Don't give me that look," he drawled. "'M takin' this like a pro."

Leia tilted her head at him smartly, a soft expression on her face. She twitched her foot up and over at the Sabacc cards.

"Gambling?"

"Only with hearts," he said smoothly, and winked at her.

She sat forward, content.

Han leaned back a little more, and she rose to her feet restlessly, her arms folded across her chest.

"Are you really not feeling bad?" she asked probingly.

Han groaned, rolling his eyes a little.

"Somethin' wrong with my skin?" he grumbled testily. "Chewie said I looked bad."

Leia gave him a small nod.

"I think you feel worse than you're willing to admit."

Han looked at her stubbornly for a long time, and Leia glanced over at a chronometer – it shouldn't be much longer before Kettsy, if not Soivrin herself, came in to do a routine check on Han's progress.

She turned back to Han, and noticed he had sat forward, staring down at the floor under him, his forearms on his thighs, his fist balled up, making his veins stand out.

"Han," she called gently.

He reached up to rub his forehead gingerly, setting his jaw – it was a overwhelming, how abruptly he felt bad – almost as if clenching his fist had unexpectedly pushed so much bacta into his system that he was dizzy, and lightheaded and –

"Yeah," he said heavily, his voice strained. "Leia, is there," he waved his hand shakily, "a bucket?"

Leia looked to one of the tables in the room, and swept a metal bin basin into her hands, making her way over to him without hesitation. She dropped down to one knee and placed it between his feet, perfectly situating it at the exact moment he lurched forward, his stomach turning over.

"Hey, get back," he mumbled hazily, pushing his arm out and pressing it into her chest, trying to – shield her, in some way.

Leia ignored him and twisted her arm around his. She didn't bat an eyelid when he vomited, just as she hadn't recoiled from it on Tatooine, and the long jump back to Sullust.

Han grimaced, baring his teeth at the sour taste left in his mouth, and Leia held his hand firmly, turning her head, and speaking with authority when she heard Chewbacca re-enter the room.

"Chewie," she said calmly. "Would you mind asking after Dr. Soivrin?"

Chewbacca nodded solemnly, only taking a moment to set down the snack tray he'd fetched before disappearing again.

Han turned his head, rubbing his wrist against his temple harshly – his skin felt slimy, suddenly, and he frowned, unsure if his stomach was going to settle or not. Leia had his arm pressed against her heart, and he focused on that, which eased some of the sudden dizziness. When it faded, and he felt steady again, he turned, and she was right there, her hands already pressing against his neck and forehead, and her touch was _good_ , peaceful – he lifted his eyes with a grim smirk – rough, sure, but still only as bad as the nastiest hangover, for now.

* * *

Long into the evening, Han stubbornly maintained that he did not have it that bad – and for the most part, Leia believed him. He stopped short of insisting he was fine, as he clearly wasn't, but even Leia could see he hadn't yet reached the level of affliction that had plagued him after the carbonite.

He had spent the tail end of his second round of bacta intermittently vomiting; Leia had sought to lighten the mood with the light tease that now he had a taste of what her morning sickness had felt like – which drew a grim, wry smile out of him. He appreciated her upbeat attitude, and how unfazed she was – he didn't know if she was really unbothered, or if she was putting her exceptional skills at work and faking it. He had only the haziest memory of how she had handled it when he was affected by carbon sickness.

The nausea faded once he was unhooked from the drip, but his strength was severely sapped, he was dehydrated, and he didn't want to eat, as unsettled as he still felt. Chewbacca helped her get him home, since he was lightheaded and his disrupted equilibrium was making it difficult for him to walk – being Han, he adamantly refused a hover chair.

While Chewbacca had seen to dinner – which Han declined, and she had only picked at – Leia had called her father to let him know she wouldn't be over to the Embassy this evening, and might have a late morning tomorrow. He had taken it upon himself to come to her, instead – not for work, but for the sake of family, saying, when Leia tried to dissuade him –

 _I won't be in the way, Leia; this is what family does – you still need support, too._

She didn't have the heart – or the desire – to put her foot down and refuse him, and though she was at first a little worried that Han would balk at anyone other than Chewbacca or herself being around while he was sick, it turned out that he was so exhausted and out of it that he was sort of blocking out everything around him.

He was in the 'fresher when Bail arrived, anyway, and when her father asked after him, Leia responded that he was showering, and Chewbacca was lurking around the spa to make sure he didn't fall.

"Why aren't you in there?" her father had asked curiously – he knew her to be unperturbed by this sort of thing; he'd been rather jarringly introduced to how hands on she could be when he was first brought back into the galactic fold.

Quick-witted as ever, she had responded –

"I can't resist him when he's naked. The nurses warned me not to excite him."

" _Leia_."

She smiled tiredly, giving him a look.

"I can't keep him from falling, or lift him," she said. "I'm not strong enough."

Her father gave her a quiet, half-smile.

"You're very strong, Leia."

She smiled at him gratefully, and he busied himself doing something – much like Chewie, Bail made an effort of being there in the peripheral, even if not directly needed or asked to do something. Leia silently appreciated it – her father was right; she still needed support herself, and she was grateful to have that from sources other than Han, particularly while she focused on him, and ensured he focused on himself.

Chewbacca disappeared into the room they kept for him once Han was out of the 'fresher, and Han initially returned to the living room, where Leia had brought some of her lighter work for the evening – she often saved more frivolous briefs, categorized as such by Tavska, as reading to do as she wound down before bed.

He griped about Chewie, made a few jokes about Bail, and Leia humored him, flicking the holo from evening political commentary to one of the high stakes racing channels – it was not long before he abandoned his masculine, devil-may-care slouch on the sofa and stretched out tiredly, lowering his head to her lap and breathing out in relief.

She set aside all of her briefings – her mind wasn't sharp enough for them at the moment, anyway – and put her feet up on the kaffe table, running her hands warmly over his shoulder.

She thought about telling him to go to bed, but she didn't think he wanted to. She herself was tired, yet too on edge to sleep, and he likely didn't want to lie in there and wait for her to come in.

Her hands drifted to his hair, and she settled them there, her attention fixed lazily on the races – Han gambled on them occasionally, dealing in high stakes bets with Lando and some of the Rogues, and it never bothered Leia because Han was incredibly intelligent with his bets, and these days he always kept it legal. She thought for his birthday, she might try to secure box seats at one of the most elite races – she was never one for watching things such as this on a holo, but live events were always a rush.

Han tossed his head a little, his shoulders twitching.

"Leia," he mumbled.

She smoothed her hand down his neck, tucking it under his shirt near his heart for a moment to soothe him. He nodded, satisfied, and she tilted her head, moving her hand back up slowly.

"Cold?" she murmured

Han shrugged hazily, and she bent forward to look at his face – his eyes were closed; she wasn't even quite sure if he was awake. Regardless, she stretched out to her right and swept a woven blanket off the armchair, tugging the edge of it gently out from underneath Zozy, who lifted his head and gave her a meek, suspicious look. She shook it out and spread it over Han. She crossed one ankle over the other and settled back again, tucking the blanket behind his shoulders to keep him warm.

Han seemed to appreciate it. He curled up a little, tucking himself onto the couch more, mumbling to himself. He shifted his head a little and turned, looking up at her blearily.

"Told you," he murmured.

She pressed her palm to his forehead, checking for fever; he hadn't spiked one yet, though Dr. Soivrin warned he might, if not now, then certainly after the aggressive final round of treatment.

"Told me what?"

He smirked.

"You c'n always take care'f me," he said.

It was an echo of what he'd told her on Corellia, a little before he had brought home Zozy.

Leia smoothed her hand back through his hair, turning her head to check on the mooka – he was still very much subdued by the stitches he'd received after his snip, and had been moping around the apartment lately, his energy tempered. Zozy cocked his head at her peacefully, and then twitched his nose at Han, as if he understood that one of his caretakers was not well.

"'M fine, though," Han added, and she laughed, shaking her head at him.

She didn't know how to define her emotional state, as it were. In some respects, Han's treatment was a distraction. She could focus intensively on the specifics and logistics, making sure he was fine, boosting her mood every time she thought, with relief, of how this would keep him safe, and repair things she had worried were irreparable. In other respects, it was so difficult; it anchored her to the loss she was trying to cope with and move on from, made her feel helpless, angry, and haunted.

Han had told her that part of him put off the treatment because he didn't want her to think he was rushing her, because if he had it done and was squared away, the only thing standing between them and a baby would be her emotional recovery, and he didn't want that pressure on her. She had not viewed it that way, concerned as she was about his health, and she valued his concern – still, she did suddenly find herself wary of how they both would feel when all this treatment was said and done.

The pain had been most raw in those days on Corellia, and still fresh in the small handful of weeks after – this treatment, though, showed her in sharp relief how much it still hurt, even though she had adjusted to feeling it, and was functioning alright in her daily routines.

Often she found herself frustrated – _helpless_ with frustration, even – when she thought about how much uncertainty had surrounded her decision to have a baby, and how difficult it had been for her to overcome her insecurities and realize that _yes_ , she did want that, and _no_ , she wasn't going to allow Vader, or _anyone_ else, to take that away from her. It had been a rough path to get to where she needed to be, to be ready, and not only had it been taken away from her, the level of devastation she felt shocked her, considering she hadn't previously been a woman who thought of nothing other than having a baby.

She almost thought her anguish was unfair, and yet she supposed it was illuminating in its own right, letting her know with gentle brutality how blind she'd been to what she wanted; how she'd almost let things as arbitrary as bloodline, and bad experience, dictate her choices.

When she thought about it, her thoughts invariably drifted back to Han, and she found comfort in him even when he wasn't there to talk to her, touch her, or smile at her. She didn't think there was anyone else who could have put everything into the right perspective for her.

Her head drifted back, and she sighed contently, drawing Han's head against her abdomen gently, and beginning a slow, leisurely dance of her hands in his hair, choreographed beautifully to soothe him to sleep, and give her something to focus on. Slowly quieting her thoughts, and reaching out into the Force to relax her mind, she found herself almost falling asleep as she lazily stared at the Holo through her lashes.

The gentle lullaby of the Force hummed in her ears, and she harnessed a few tendrils of it experimentally, pressing her fingertips into Han's temple – _I love you_ , she thought to him sincerely, and Han breathed calmly and easily, so relaxed he was nearly dead weight in her lap.

Her hands stroke through his hair absently, she listened to her father, quietly slinking around in the kitchen as if he were in any way useful at cleaning up – she had no doubt he was placing dishes in the wrong spot.

She yawned, lashes fluttering, twitching her fingers slightly when one of them tangled in a strand of Han's hair.

"Leia!"

She nearly jumped out of her skin at her father's whispered howl. Eyes flying open, she turned her head slowly and glared at him in alarm.

Bail have her a pained look, thrusting his hand out at Han.

"What the hell are you doing to him?" he demanded in a hiss.

Leia stared him, incredulous, and grit her teeth.

"Shhhh," she snapped at him quietly. "He needs to sleep - he's not suffocating in my lap, Father, he's been there before," she added narrowly, glaring.

Han stirred, and Bail snapped furiously at him, gesturing for Leia to look. She glanced down, and pulled her hand back, her lips pursing —

 _Oh_.

She had … it seemed in her little meditation she had inadvertently twisted much of Han's hair into loose, but neat, little braids.

She looked up with wide eyes.

Her father shook his head, indignant. She lifted her hands slowly.

"My hands, I … they can't help it, they just - braid!" she hissed. "I'm…Alderaanian!"

She narrowed her eyes.

"This is _your_ fault," she accused, still whispering. She bit her lip, and looked down at her handiwork – if Winter caught wind of this – worse yet, if _Rouge_ caught wind of this –

Her father, still looking both scandalized, and amused, folded his arms, shaking his head.

"Isn't the poor man going through enough?" he demanded sternly.

" _This_ is the day you decide to take Han's side?" Leia retorted, her eyes wide.

Bail arched his brows, and Leia swallowed hard, wincing at herself as she turned to begin undoing the loose braids she'd twisted. Her father stepped forward, holding his hand up, evidently having a change of heart.

"Don't _un_ do them," he protested, a smug look crossing his face. "Not before – you must have a," he gestured with his hand, and looked around aimlessly, "a holocamera?"

Leia frowned – had Han not been feeling bad, and already self-conscious about it, she herself might have wanted a holo, but given the circumstances, she shook her head, proceeding with her gentle unbraiding.

"Father," she admonished, giving him a look. She sighed. "This isn't the right time."

He tilted his head at her, smirked again, and nodded in understanding. He folded his arms, and took a few steps forward. Zozy lifted his head, flattened his ears back, and gave a soft, muttering growl, staring at Bail suspiciously.

Leia clicked her tongue at the mooka, silencing him with the familiar command, and he placed his head back on his paws, still glaring at Bail. The Viceroy shook his head, giving the little guy his own suspicious, offended look.

"I cannot understand why he doesn't like me," Bail remarked edgily.

Leia compressed her lips, pointedly directing her attention to undoing the last of Han's impromptu braids. She was almost positive Han had somehow trained Zozy to menace Bail, despite the fact that they seemed unable to train Zozy to do anything else.

"It's just how he shows affection," Leia offered innocently.

"Hmmm," Bail murmured, narrowing his eyes.

He considered the mooka briefly, and then looked at Han, moving forward again. This time, Zozy did not growl at him, having been reprimanded by Leia the first time, but he did follow Bail with his bright little eyes. Bail stepped in front of the holo, tilting his head.

"You said he didn't eat?" he asked.

Leia shook her head, shaking the last braid out. She bit her lip, wordlessly apologizing to Han's hair – though it did have a lovely wave to it now.

"Do you worry he may become more dehydrated?" Bail pressed.

"A little," Leia murmured.

She nodded towards the hall.

"I have intravenous fluids to put him on, in a home kit, if he won't drink anything," she said. "It's alright if he doesn't eat, for now."

She left her hand over Han's ear; keeping things quiet for him, and her father frowned deeply, looking at her worriedly.

"Needles bother you, do they not?" he asked. "Will you be able to fit him with one? I know it won't be hurting _you_ , but if you are still squeamish about sticking _him_ \- "

Leia grimaced lightly.

"If I had to, I could," she said, "though, this not being an emergency, I'll ask Chewie to do it – he's got quite a bit of practice with giving Han medical attention," she murmured wryly.

"Ah," Bail said dryly. He snorted. "I suppose that doesn't surprise me. It is his sworn duty to keep him alive."

Bail unfolded his arms, and then clasped his hands in front of him formally.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

Leia sat forward a little, resting her hands idly on Han, rather than letting them run wild with a mind of their own in his hair. She shook her head.

"I _did_ tell you there was no reason to come over," she said. She looked down, and tilted her head at Han, nodding to herself. "It isn't so bad," she decided, agreeing with him. "What worries me is the next round," she added, her voice softening.

Her father nodded, setting his jaw. He moved further around the kaffe table, and then crossed his arms again, sitting down on the arm of Zozy's chair. The mooka turned his head, his eyes widening, as if he were both shocked and offended that Bail would dare come near him, despite the growling. Bail shot Zozy a mildly taunting look.

"I am not afraid of you," he told him seriously. He leaned a little closer. "I started a galactic rebellion."

Zozy twitched his tail, unimpressed. He bared his teeth.

"Zozy," Leia admonished, arching a brow.

Bail rolled his eyes, and looked over to Leia, clearing his throat.

"Would you like me to stay here for a few days next week?" he asked. "If this upcoming third round is to be the most aggressive, you may need extra support."

Leia hesitated, unsure Han would like the idea. She tilted her head uncertainly, a tight expression on her face as she considered it.

"I appreciate the offer," she began diplomatically.

Bail raised his hand gently.

"Leia, hear me out," he said. "I know Han doesn't want an audience. No one does, in illness, whether it is of this nature, or of the more common viral persuasion. You yourself did not want me around you a few weeks ago," he reminded her carefully, "anxious as you were about my feelings."

Leia swallowed hard, and nodded. Her father shrugged.

"I have no interest in alienating Han, or hovering around him," he said, keeping his voice low. "But I know, from personal experience, how emotionally taxing it can be to take care of someone, and be at their side, and watch them suffer," he reminded her softly. "It is difficult _even_ when you know that person is going to be okay, in the end."

Leia nodded, her eyes stinging a little.

"Yes," she agreed, lifting her shoulders. "He does it for me all the time, Father."

Bail smiled, tapping his fingers against his elbow.

"He does," the Viceroy agreed, "and you know I appreciate him for it nearly as much as you no doubt love him for it."

Leia flushed, and her father hesitated a moment, before leaning forward slightly, uncrossing his arms and bracing his palms on his knees.

"Lelila, I know you're still hurting," he said gently. "This is all very closely tied to your," he paused, just long enough for Leia to sigh, and offer him some respite –

"I don't mind if you say miscarriage, Dad."

He nodded.

"It's very closely tied to that. It hasn't been long, and you're still recovering yourself, you _must_ be," he said perceptively. "So I only offer so that even if I am utterly useless around your home, if you need me, I would be here. To field unexpected visitors or have tea ready or," he shrugged, and pointed at Zozy, "take this little bastard out for a walk."

Leia grinned, blinking a few times. She averted her eyes and took a deep breath, taking his words to heart. He was right, and she supposed that bothered her some, too. She didn't like that she wasn't back to herself yet, and because of that, she wasn't as unbreakable as Han was always able to be for her.

"Maybe," she said, conceding. "I'll think about it."

She swallowed hard.

"We'll see how bad he feels," she added, with a light wink. "For the most part, even taking into account tonight, he's done better than predicted."

Bail smiled wryly.

"I am sure that, possessed of that information, Han's ego is insufferable."

Leia shrugged. She looked down at him, her shoulders falling.

"He needs to go to bed," she said, sighing. "I don't want to wake him."

She removed her hands and stretched them over her head, yawning. She pushed her hands back through her hair, and then let them rest on her shoulders, twitching her foot a little – in just a subtle way, to see if it roused Han at all.

He shifted, turning his head and blinking, and Leia breathed a sigh of relief.

"You talkin' about me?" he asked, tripping over the words.

"Mm-hmm," Leia murmured honestly, touching his shoulder. "Han, you need to go to bed. Your back will hurt if you stay here."

He blinked at her hazily, and she arched her brows, expecting him to take offense to the comment about his back – _my back? Sweetheart, I ain't that old yet –_

Instead, he kept looking at her hazily.

"Go?" he repeated roughly. He turned slowly onto his back, his brow furrowing. He reached up and rubbed his forehead hard. "'M not _goin'_ anywhere," he retorted.

Leia arched a brow. Bail sat back, tilting his head.

Han lowered his hand and looked at her through narrow, bloodshot eyes. He shook his head.

"'M stayin'," he said. " _Told_ you that. 'M gonna hang around for you."

She bit her lip, giving him a funny look, and then nodded slowly – _confusion,_ or disturbed awareness; it was a side effect. She leaned forward a little, catching his eye and holding clearly for a moment.

"I know, Han," she said. "You did hang around, hotshot. You married me."

She smiled, and then spared at glance for her father, wrinkling her nose lightly.

"He's okay," she assured him.

Han looked at her uncertainly, then seemed to snap back to the right place in time, and blinked a couple of times.

"Yeah," he agreed seriously. "That was good."

She ran her fingers along his jaw.

"It's been pretty good," she whispered conspiratorially, and then nudged his shoulders. "Bed," she said again.

Han stared at her a little longer, and then lurched forward, sitting up. Leia helped, keeping her hands on his shoulders as he shifted and leaned forward, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment.

"Bed sounds good," he drawled.

Leia gave him a warning look.

"Han," she started –

"You're gonna have to be on top, though," he suggested.

"—Dad's here," she finished, wincing.

Han raised his head from his hands, looking around until he saw Bail. The Viceroy glared dully at him from the armchair, and Han shrugged carelessly.

"He's been married, he gets it," Han rambled. He looked at Bail critically. "S'not like he's a virgin."

Leia fixed a mild glare on Han, and stood up, nudging his shoulder firmly.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, her face pink. She poked at his arm gently. "You need to stop talking."

Han reached for her hips and held them, looking around her waist at the armchair with a sharp glare, blinking a few times for focus.

"Zozy," he snapped. He nodded at Bail, arching his brows. "You forgettin' somethin'?"

Zozy wagged his tail, and Bail stood, narrowing his eyes. Leia smiled a little, and succeeded in putting enough pressure on Han's bicep to get him to stand up. He seemed steady enough, though his hands drifted from her hips to her shoulder heavily.

Bail watched sharply, ready to step in and help her if she needed it. Leia waved him off, directing Han first towards the hall, and then changing her mind.

"Here," she said, pointing him into the kitchen. "I want you to drink something."

She didn't bother to turn a light on, and Han leaned against the counter, rubbing his jaw.

"Why'm I not s'pose to talk?" he asked, frowning.

"You aren't particularly lucid," Leia answered softly, pushing a glass of water into his hands after she had infused it with an electrolyte supplement.

He took it, reaching up to pinch his nose.

"'M not?" he slurred.

"No," she said softly, standing close to him. "Drink that, Han."

He nodded, and did so, downing half the glass. He made a face, though she knew the electrolytes were flavorless. He held the glass out to her, hastily getting rid of it, and then put his hand back to his nose, pressing fingertips hard into the bridge of it.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Dizzy," he grunted.

He turned on his heel and leaned over the sink, resting his elbows hard on the counter. Leia moved to his side, holding the glass ready in case he needed to rinse his mouth out. He didn't get sick, only seemed to be mentally preparing in case he did, breathing shallowly through the nausea.

Her heart ached.

After a moment, he lowered one arm, and slid it over to her, reaching for her hand. She gave it to him, and he scowled, his brows furrowing – he said nothing, holding tight, and then cleared his throat, straightening up some and reaching out to take the glass of water back.

Satisfied he wasn't gong to be sick, he more slowly finished drinking it, setting it aside with a distasteful look when he was done.

"One more round, yeah?" he muttered, half to himself.

Leia nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss to his bicep, her lips brushing softly over the worsening bruise there. The sore skin tightened under the touch, and she wrapped one arm around his waist – one more, that was all, and it did not matter how miserable the third round was, he'd have here there to get him through it.

* * *

The third iteration was by far the worst.

Leia felt that she and Han had been warned appropriately; Dr. Soivrin had not minced words when she had described the worst of what the side effects might be, and for that, Leia was grateful. The cruel joke of it was that initially, it _appeared_ that Han was only going to have a mild reaction; during the final, three hour treatment, he'd only reacted half as negatively as he had in the second one, and bucked up in the half hour he spent in the treatment room unhooked from the bacta and taking the saline drip Soivrin fit him with to hydrate him as best as possible before sending him home.

What struck him later that evening was a true _cascade_ in every sense of the word; Leia had never been so relieved to have her father and Chewbacca there in the background. Han went downhill so quickly it took her breath away; one moment he half-heartedly griping at her for insisting he take it easy, the next, heavily draped over the sofa's arm rest, his eyes closed, breathing shallow.

The onset wasn't sudden, dramatic, and loud; it was more internal – fatigue and fever being the worst of it, which settled into severe muscle pain, and eventually, evoked shivering, nausea, and vertigo. It was eerie, how closely it resembled carbon poisoning, right down to the incredible feat his immune system executed in holding it off until it reached a point at which Han just couldn't take it anymore, his mental resolve collapsed, and he was overwhelmed by it.

That it was not as life-threatening and wretchedly severe as it had been when it was true carbon poisoning, rather than a diluted mimicry of it, did nothing to mitigate how difficult it was to see him like this, and be unable to do anything other than wait for it to pass.

Han was not a complainer – he never had been, not in situations like this. In petty moments, when it came to little things like mundane paperwork, he could whine and begrudge things with olympic magnificence, but in injury or illness Han was withdrawn, stoic and – if pushed – understandably irritable.

Knowing him as well as she did, and drawing on her past experience, Leia tended to him with skill and precision, though this time she was less timid, more confident. Back then, when she had him back in her arms again after wrenching him from Jabba's clutches, she had been scared, uncertain, desperate to help him, but unable to discern where his head was – where _they_ stood.

He'd been aggressive in his misery then; his pride wounded, self-conscious about what a mess he was in her presence, and prone to lashing out at her – which had only strengthened her resolve. He exhibited almost none of that anger, at himself and his situation, now. He was utterly exhausted, and he was resigned to his plight for the moment – furthermore, their bond was much stronger, and much more accustomed to the unpleasant and the ugly aspects of romance than it had been in the early days.

Though she had humored him and refrained from hovering when he was feeling bad after the second treatment, she did not do so this time; she stayed at his side, quiet and unassuming, well aware that at some point, when it became too much, he'd drop the last bit of bravado and want her there.

And want her there he did, from evening, to late after midnight, when his fever spiked higher and he woke out of a fitful sleep, unable to get comfortable. He was restless, sick and sore, and he kept getting up to stumble into the 'fresher – Leia didn't follow him, though each time he rose she sat up, her ears perked sharply, on edge as she listened to the water run.

Each time, when it shut off, and he stumbled back out of the 'fresher, she lay back down, acting as if he hadn't disturbed her, though they both knew it was a feint.

As he collapsed back into bed for the third time, unable to settle, Leia turned towards him. He tossed and turned tensely for a moment, until her hands came to rest on his back, and she leaned up, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

"Han," she murmured, rubbing his spine soothingly. Her hand moved confidently over him, and she shifted closer her, pressing her chest against his back so he could feel her there.

He sighed roughly, uncomfortable, and leaned back into her touch a little. She kissed behind his shoulder; his skin was hot and salty - not in a pleasant way. He lifted his head heavily, blinking hazily, his mouth and jaw knotted up in a tight grimace.

"Mm," he mumbled. "M'i…keepin' you up?" he muttered. "I c'n go crash on the sofa. Or in the guest - "

"Shhhhh," Leia murmured, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. "You aren't bothering me," she promised.

She squeezed his shoulder, hoping he'd turn around - and he did, after a moment, his face nudging her shoulder almost desperately. He swallowed hard, parting his lips, and she noticed they were dry and cracked – she needed to get him some water.

"How bad do you feel?" she murmured sympathetically, pressing her hands to his neck, and her lips to his chapped ones, unperturbed – she wanted him to know, unequivocally, that she did not find this off-putting.

He cringed and pushed his face closer to her neck, seeking comfort. He shook his head.

"Like hell," he answered finally, his shoulder sagging. He grasped at her hips tightly, squeezing in a way that was not intended to comfort her, as it usually was, but was an attempt to anchor himself to something better, remind himself this hell wasn't going to last.

Leia cupped his cheek in her hand, holding his face against her breast, her mind humming with memories of Jabba's Palace, the escape from Tatooine.

She kissed the top of his head. He kicked the covers off of him fitfully, so Leia shifted them down, too, helping him out - he was so _miserable_ , and still barely willing to admit how miserable. She closed her eyes lightly, her heart pounding - she loved him so much for this.

Han shifted closer, his skin slick with sweat, and titled his head up, breathing in and out slowly. He winced, and first, tucked his face into her shoulder again – and then twisted away, pushing his hand back through his hair. Leia sat up and pushed the covers off of him entirely. She gently tugged his pillow out from under his head and turned it over to the cooler side, leaning over him,

She brushed his hair behind his ears, kissing his temple.

Han groaned hoarsely, his brow furrowing.

"Hot," he told her gruffly. He shook his head, his jaw tensing. "'S too…hot."

Leia massaged his shoulders, biting her lip to steady herself. She nodded, and turned, climbing out of bed and walking around it to his side. She checked the water on the bedside table – empty. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and put her hand through his hair again, tilting his head back.

"Han," she called softly. "Can you tell me what feels worst right now? Tell me what you need?" she coaxed.

He groaned again, turning his face away. His jaw tensed, and he grimaced; she watched him shiver despite his complaints that he was too hot, and she realized he was having muscle spasms.

He jerked forward and sat up, putting forth a lot of effort to do so, and Leia grasped his shoulders, stopping him. She kept him sitting, though he tried to get out of bed, and it was a testament to how sick he was that she was able to easily keep him from moving.

"Tell me what you need," she repeated gently.

"S'too hot in here," he said hoarsely. He leaned forward his head falling hard against her shoulder. "Leia, let me go."

"You don't need to keep getting up," she murmured.

He tried to wrestle out of her grip, his face darkening.

"'M gonna be sick," he protested.

Leia straightened up and turned to her side, glancing around – she knew she had – put it somewhere – there. She spotted a metal basin she'd asked Chewbacca to bring up from the _Falcon_ , and swept it neatly into her hands, setting it on the bedside table for him and nodding firmly.

Han gave it a bitter look, but seemed to resign himself to the futility of continuing to get up and lay back down – he reached out and grabbed it, and Leia stepped over to the side to run her hand gingerly over his shoulder when he began to dry heave. The sound of it hurt her ears, and from the look on his face, the violence of it hurt his throat and chest. There was nothing left in his stomach to purge, and she stood there until his body finally realized that, and eased up on him.

He bowed his head, letting her take the basin from him, and he shoved his hands into his hair, mumbling under his breath. He reached out for her, and she moved closer, pulling his head against her breast again. He rested there for a moment, and then unexpectedly pushed her away – it wasn't a rough shove, but it was urgent.

He grimaced.

"You're too hot," he complained, his face turning pale. He grit his teeth, struggling with himself. "'M too hot in here," he repeated, hyper focused on it. He started to get up again. "'M gonna sleep somewhere else – "

She stepped forward again and pushed him back gently, palms firm on his shoulders.

"You stay here," she murmured. "It's more comfortable."

"You, you," he mumbled.

Leia only continued tucking him back in, leaving the covers pulled back. He didn't fight her too much, and she took the empty glass from the side table, showing it to him.

"I'll get you some more ice water," she promised, keeping her voice low, "and let you have the bed to yourself for a little while."

Han nodded, tossing his head fitfully.

Leia compressed her lips, and started towards the bedroom door, only to remember that her father and Chewbacca were both still in the apartment, and though the hour was late, she had best get dressed on the off chance one of them was lurking around.

She set aside the glass briefly, and fumbled around in the dark for her pajamas, throwing them on carelessly without bothering to see if the shirt was the right side out. She reclaimed the glass, and slipped out of the bedroom.

She found the dim lights in the kitchen were already on, and spared that a vague, curious thought as she mixed an electrolyte supplement into Han's fresh ice water. She removed a few ice packets from the refrigerator, and then paused for a moment with the things laid out on the counter, resisting the urge to burst into tears.

She stared at the ice for a long, tense moment, and then closed her eyes and took a deep breath – if Han needed to be alone for a bit, to cool off, or feel more comfortable, then it was a good time to ask Chewbacca to give him another saline drip, and she might – hop in the 'fresher herself and steady herself a bit –

"Leia?"

She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of her name – she hadn't heard her father approach, though she supposed it made sense that the kitchen lights had been on, if he was up. She was frozen for a moment, and then breathed out at the realization that it was him.

She did not look up right away.

"Father," she said hoarsely. "You can't sneak up on me like that," she warned, finally lifting her head. Her eyes stung a little, and very abruptly, it hit her hard that she was more fragile tonight than she'd been willing to admit. "You _can't_ ," she said emphatically. "You have to make a noise."

Coming out of the shadows, her father nodded, his face a picture of earnest concern.

"I apologize," he said sincerely.

She nodded, gathering the ice packs in her hand.

"Is he alright? Do you need anything?" Bail asked.

She let out a sigh; glad she had asked him to come be with her after all, frustrated with herself for needing him. She nodded, compressing her lips.

"If you – would wake up Chewie," she said shakily. "I think Han needs another hydration drip."

"Of course," Bail said immediately.

"If you could adjust the temperature control as well," Leia directed. "Elevate it a few notches. He's hot, but when the fever sweats out he'll have chills so keep it warm."

Her father nodded, and hesitated only a moment.

"How would you feel if I also made a cup of tea for you?" he offered. "You could sit out here with me and have a break."

Leia sighed, torn. She grimaced, but ultimately nodded, agreeing to it – Han kept saying he was too hot with her in bed with him anyway, and as much as she wanted to be there, and hold him, she didn't think he'd relax enough to sleep, or let the worst of it really take hold of him, if she didn't give him an hour or so to wallow.

She nodded again, miserable herself, and tucked the icepacks against her chest, giving her father a small smile as she retreated back down the hall into her bedroom. She stopped to turn the 'fresher light on to provide some clarity, and returned to Han's side of the bed.

Sprawled on his back, he looked at her through heavily lidded eyes, and reached out, his palm brushing against her thigh.

"You don't – you don't," he muttered distractedly. "You don't have that – thing on?" he asked. His hand curled into a fist and he slid it up to her hips uncertainly, his lashes fluttering without focus. His jaw tightened. "'M – 'm – I'll kill 'im, Leia."

She brushed his hand away gently, placing it back on his chest and squeezing.

"Took it off years ago," she murmured simply, aware he was talking about the costume Jabba had forced her into. It was disturbing, how the feverish delirium was so starkly reminiscent of the carbon poisoning that it confused him into half-thinking that's exactly what he was going through, and what point of time he was in.

She sat down on the bed again, near his chest this time, and started slipping ice packs into the pillow – when they melted and became slush-like, she'd deal with the dampness later. She pressed a cool palm to his neck, and leaned closer, catching his eyes softly.

She smiled and adjusted the ice packs accordingly, so that he'd have that cool respite as he tossed and turned. She helped him to sit up, and pressed the water into his hand, monitoring his intake until a few moments later, Chewbacca shuffled in, the requisite equipment for a saline drip in his hand.

Han shot the Wookiee a grim look as he approached and shook his head.

"No," he grumbled. "Don't need – "

 _[Leia needs you to take it,]_ Chewbacca said dismissively, talking over Han's protest smoothly, easily saying the right thing to get him to shut up and submit.

Leia took the glass of water and stepped back, giving Chewie room and biting her lip. She left the glass on the table, and watched Chewie and Han argue aggressively for a moment, her hand brushing her lips. Chewbacca turned and gave her a gentle look over his shoulder, assuring her Han was cooperating.

Unable to handle watching him set a needle in her current state of distress, Leia slipped out of the room, following the scent of freshly brewed tea. She found her father's handiwork – an impressive feat in boiling water - in the kitchen, and took her time fixing herself a cup so that it suited her tastes; a slight bit of sugar, a dollop of honey, and just a dash of chamomile spice.

She took it into the sitting room where she supposed her father had situated himself, sparing a glance for the hallway that led to the master bedroom, and for the chrono on the wall. She noted the late hour and, as she entered the living room, felt her father's eyes on her intently. She ignored his study, pensive as it was, and took a seat in the snug corner of the couch, nudging Zozy out of the way so she could have her usual spot.

The mooka was quick to relinquish it, his eyes on her with forlorn, sympathetic calmness. He understood, again, that something was wrong in his family, as this was the second time in so many weeks he had been refused his usual spot in Han and Leia's bed. She afforded him an affectionate little smile, and nodded to the spot next to her, granting him permission to hop back up on the sofa and snuggle.

Tired, and distracted and tense, Leia drew one leg up on the sofa, balancing her mug in her hands. Zozy leapt up quickly, taking up a place in the little nook between her ankle and the back of her thigh. Her father watched her as she fidgeted to get comfortable, and finally she shook her head a little, glancing up at him.

"What is the look for?" she murmured, almost self-conscious – should she have drawn a robe over herself; could he see through her shirt…?

"Nothing," Bail replied. "I was only wondering if you owned any informal clothing that did not clearly belong to Han first."

His tease was gentle, and clearly intended to distract her mind a little.

Leia looked down at her attire - Han's t-shirt, a pair of Han's cotton, bloodstriped sweats that she'd cut into shorts years ago on a whim that damn near killed him with lust - hell, she was even wearing Han's feverish sweat - she looked up and glared at her father.

"Did Mama never wear your clothes?" she retorted.

Bail looked taken aback.

"No," he said bluntly, brows going up as if he weren't quite sure if he should be appalled at the suggestion, or offended that Breha never had.

Leia arched a brow softly - in fairness to her mother, it was unlikely Bail Organa had anything as comfortable as a well-washed, faded _Corellian Supernovas_ Smashball t-shirt. She tilted her head, sitting back into the cushions and letting her shoulders fall a little.

Giving in to a long, tired sigh, she raised the tea to her mouth, testing it carefully with her lips before taking an indulgent sip. Zozy rested his head on her ankle contently, and she stared at her father, still feeling that sense of gratitude, for his support, and irritation at herself for not having the capacity to get through this, and be there for Han, on her own.

"Why were you still up?" she asked quietly, curious, but not resentful. She clicked her tongue gently. "That worried about Han?"

Bail laughed a little dryly. He shrugged, tapping his finger against the mug of tea he'd poured for himself when he convinced her to have one. He shrugged.

"Never dealt with illness well," Bail said warily. "Makes me uneasy. Restless."

"Mama?" Leia asked softly.

Her father nodded.

"It was always life or death with her," he said heavily. "I never slept when she was ill."

Leia nodded, her lips compressing sadly. She glanced over her shoulder with a heavy sigh, her teeth cutting into the inside of her lip as she gazed at the wall as if she could see through it, into the other room, where Han was trying to sleep off the worst of it.

"He looks so unwell," Bail said unhappily. "It _is_ jarring," he admitted. "I do not think I have ever seen Han so much as sneeze."

Leia swallowed hard, placing her mug on the armrest to hold it.

"He'll be fine," she said steadily, turning to look at her father. It was dark in the living room, lit only by the glow that drifted in from the kitchen, and she felt no need to turn more lights on - she wanted to keep it calm, and quiet; it was so late, and Han was already disturbed enough. There was no need to start commotions, or act as if it were the daylight hours.

Bail nodded. He lifted his mug, and gestured with it at the wall, his next question gruff -

"You're holding up well?" he asked. "This has seemed," he paused, choosing his next words carefully, "draining for you."

Leia was nodding slowly even as he asked his question, but she reached up to wipe her hand under her eye swiftly, bowing her head for a moment. She nodded again, and looked up.

"Yes, I'm," she said bravely, and licked her lips, continuing slowly, in a different vein: "He's been through this before," she said. "It was _worse_ , when the effect wasn't just – residual," she shook her head. "It's hard to see him like this," she explained, "to remember," she looked up, and took a deep breath, "how scared I was back then."

Bail nodded as she talked, listening.

"The carbonite," he said slowly.

Leia lowered her chin, and nodded. She grimaced at the word. Her father went silent, letting her be - was quiet for a good while, before he turned towards her with more resolve, his expression intent, curious.

"I know so little about it," he said. "Those events. Your past with Han, how the two of you," he shrugged. "Came to be. I suppose I know bits and pieces. Han makes his jokes," Bail rolled his eyes.

"How the two of us came to be," she quoted, very quietly. She smiled, and then the smile faded a little, thinking about all of it, how long ago it all seemed. She rubbed the pad of her finger hard against the ceramic of the mug in her hand. "For a little while, I thought he was dead. When we found him, I thought the poisoning might kill him," she admitted, her voice shaking. "I'd never seen him so…incapacitated. Worse than this. It was devastating. And he was _still_ trying to play it off, he kept," she closed her eyes, her throat tightening harshly: "he wouldn't stay still and let us treat him until he got the shackles off my neck – "

Her father's alarmed voice jolted her –

"The _what?_ "

Her eyes flew open, and she looked at him tightly. Her heart stuttered in her chest - he really didn't know, these events. There had never been official record; they were beyond the Rebellion thresholds, and Leia had never seen fit to volunteer her exploits on Tatooine to her father. She hadn't intended to speak of it now – but she was tired, and her thoughts were uneasy.

"This was your leave of absence, you took? From the Rebellion?" Bail asked quietly. "When all of this happened, with the carbon poisoning?"

Leia compressed her lips, and nodded. Her father kneaded his shoulder with his knuckles, studying her.

"Shackles?" he asked tensely.

She instinctively reached up and brushed her knuckles against her neck, thinking of how Han had slipped his hands as far as they would go into the spaces between the metal and her skin, desperate to somehow keep it from touching her. That gesture of his had been the balm that soothed her soul, while Chewbacca and Lando ravaged the ship looking for bolt cutters, and Han stood close to her, half-blind and shaking, his lips close to her ear.

 _Did anyone touch you? Sweetheart? I'll kill him._

He was the first person she whispered it to, as none of them had been on the casino barge to witness the actual moment –

 _I strangled him._

No one had touched her, not there in Jabba's palace, yet the lascivious looks, and the humiliating display of her body, which she had always considered her own, a private temple that she shared sparingly, and only with incredible trust. The experience of being chained to that throne, exposed and leered at, was _violence_ in its own right that rivaled some of the worst physical slights she'd received.

Leia lowered her hand, holding her mug in both of her palms. It was warm, steadying. She drew in a deep breath.

"I left the Rebellion to rescue Han," she said. "I had no way of knowing if he would make it, or if I would survive. The decision cost me dearly, in terms of Mon Mothma's trust," she hesitated, looking at her father, "but I _had_ to do it. I had just spent," she compressed her lips, unsure of the exact time, "weeks in wild space with Han, coping with how I felt about him, and if there was any chance that I could have him, and a life with him, to look forward to – to get me through that war – I _had_ to save him."

Her father listened intently, his own tea abandoned to the table. Leia looked down at hers; steam curled upwards from the tea lazily, and the scent of it was soothing.

"The mission strategy failed, as they were wont to do," she said dryly. "Luke and I found ourselves held captive, just after I managed to get Han out of the carbonite," she trailed off, and then raised her eyes again.

"They were sentenced to death; I was held as an ornament for the Hutts."

Bail sat back, and then sat forward. He rested is elbows on his knees, and placed his fingertips against his temples.

"You mean slavery?" he asked dully.

Leia said nothing; she didn't think she needed to. Her father rubbed his jaw roughly.

"Were you hurt?" he asked hoarsely.

She considered the question for a moment. The answer was obvious, but a moment of reflection also indicated he was using the word _hurt_ as a euphemism, and Leia shook her head simply.

"I was an aesthetic toy," she said quietly.

Bail lifted his head, his face pale.

"There is no limit to the things I failed to protect you from," he said.

Leia lifted her shoulder.

"I didn't mean to bring this up," she said edgily.

"What happened?" Bail asked curtly.

"I was chained to his throne," she said, in the same tone. She gestured vaguely to her throat. "Shackles," she repeated. She was silent for a moment. "Han cut them off. Han incinerated the outfit. Han could barely stand up on his own, and he swore he would personally murder Jabba the Hutt if it was the last thing he ever did."

Bail looked down at his palms grimly, thinking that sounded exactly like his son-in-law. His brow furrowed, and he sat back a little, hesitant.

"Is that what happened to the Hutt syndicate?" he asked. "Jabba the Hutt's death was exacted with vengeance?"

Leia nodded.

"I can hardly say I blame Han," Bail said tightly. "The slugs had a bounty on him as it _were_ , and given what they subjected you to – "

"Father," Leia interrupted quietly. She shook her head, pressed her palm against her chest. "I killed him."

Bail lifted his head to her, his eyes wide with shock, and Leia braced herself not to recoil from whatever he was thinking, whatever she would read on his face. She did not know what bid her to tell him, except she was _dwelling_ on that time period, and she was so caught up in the many, many ways Han had saved her and supported her, and how the disasters on Tatooine had been such a defining part of what ensured that every risk she and Han had ever taken on each other was the right risk.

" _I_ strangled him," she admitted, her fingers scraping at the air around her neck. "It was the darkest thing I've ever done."

Her father only stared at her a little longer, and then turned, reaching his hands out. He took hers in both of his, and pressed his palms together tightly, shaking his head. His lips moved soundlessly before he found his voice again.

"Dark?" he quoted hoarsely, eyes flashing. "There is no _darkness_ in self-defense. There is no sin in a desperate act when one's back is against the wall," he said. "Lelila," he called her name gently. His brow furrowed. "Two years ago, you told me that Jabba the Hutt was murdered."

She cast her eyes down bitterly, and Bail lifted his hand to touch her chin, raising her head proudly.

"What you speak of is not murder."

Leia grasped at his wrist.

"You think I was strong enough to throttle a Hutt with my bare hands?" she asked huskily, her eyes burning. "There was power there I didn't understand," she hissed, her words a strain on her as she confessed to it – "Power I did not recognize until _Luke_ told me who I was."

She licked her lips.

"I drew on it. I didn't know what I was summoning, but it was something, and I lashed out with it. It was self-defense," she agreed, "but it was darkness. It felt _good_. I wasn't just angry over myself, I wanted him to hurt because of what he did to Han. To _my_ man. I didn't want him subdued, I wanted him _dead_ – mutilated, and I wanted to _bask_ in it. I _did_ bask in it."

She grit her teeth, a few tears escaping her lashes.

"And Han _let_ me," she whispered. "That's who he is. He's raw emotion, and he's been there to let me have my raw emotions, and they don't bother him."

Leia pulled her mug towards her, pressing it against her breast tensely.

"I think that is why I often – gloss over my past with Han, how it came to be," she said, using his earlier words. "There's no etiquette. There was no finesse, no courtship – it was only a slow discovery of myself, and in that discovery, the realization that a man like Han was the only person who would let me be the leader I wanted to be, and a _woman_. He has the right kind of soul for it – other men, they would have expected I be as soft, and sweet, and diplomatic at home as I am in the Senate, or they would have demanded I turn to the gutters to distance myself from that _elite_ life – but I'm both," she bit her lip, "and I sometimes think that maybe that _is_ the Vader in me – but Han sees me with such complexity that I can show him the worst side of me, and he still thinks I'm, that I'm,"

Her lips trembled, and she reached up to wipe her eyes fruitlessly.

"That I'm some sort of angel," she said, with a tearful laugh of disbelief.

Her father reached for her hand again, taking it firmly.

"Of course," he said quietly. "You _must_ be, to him."

Leia took a deep breath.

"I know you have had to see me in different lights since you were rescued, Father," she said, "but I don't always want to rub your nose in it. You don't hear – fluffy stories about Han and me because there aren't many, not in the conventional sense. There are perceptions of me that I don't want ruined for you, _ever_."

Bail sighed tiredly.

"Wisdom never stops gracing us, Leia, no matter what our age," he said. "There is no chance of me thinking less of you for seeing fit to kill a being that held you captive. The last shield of pacifism sometimes has to be one grand act of violence."

Her eyes shimmered, and he lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"Even the most peaceful sometimes understand that violence is necessary – why else would I have placed Alderaan at the very heart of an armed insurgency? Pacifism is so often viewed as weakness, but at the core, what it truly is – is the self-control to turn the other cheek until the moment when diplomacy has failed for the final time, and in that moment – you are righteous in your counterassault. You are _righteous_."

Bail studied her for a long time, and then spoke quietly:

"It may interest you to know that the Hutts were the very same species that enslaved Anakin Skywalker and his mother, for a time."

Leia swallowed hard, unsure if she wanted the magnitude of that to sink in - Hutt family power shifted frequently, and it was possible the Hutts she faced were not the same Hutts who enslaved Vader as a boy - but how achingly poetic was the justice that let his daughter slay one of the monsters of his troubled youth?

While she let the thought simmer, and left it for later meditations, her father watched her. He paused, and then gave her a wry, encouraging smile.

"I haven't thought that there was anything sinister about your relationship with Han for a long time now, little one," he said kindly. "You needn't worry that telling me about it, or remembering it with fondness, will cause me to think less of you."

He shrugged.

"It is different than my own love story," he acknowledged. "Breha and I…were quite tame, by comparison. Conservative – _uptight_ , as Winter might say," he noted, and Leia gave a watery laugh. "It was strong, though it might have benefited from some of the mess you and Han dealt with prior to your marriage," he reflected.

He hesitated.

"Breha and I suffered twice as much during our attempts to have a child because we were, by virtue of our own sheltered upbringings, unaccustomed to the unpretty aspects of things. I was not educated in how to attend to my wife when she was," he trailed off, bowed his head. "Suffice it to say – Han was by your side, in the room, fending for you, when you were miscarrying," he said, and lifted his shoulders – "It was a while before I learned that as a loving husband, I ought to be there for Breha. The way of royals was to leave the unpleasant up to those paid to deal with it."

Leia listened closely, and her father gave a tired nod.

"This is something I noticed Han was good at before you were married," he said, "a thing that first endeared him to me. Luke brought you home and handed you to him, bleeding, and on the verge of getting sick, and Han…didn't flinch."

Leia smiled. She nodded a little.

Han had proved himself time and time again – then, and now. She had nursed a lurking feeling, after the miscarriage, that he would be wary of her, after all of the blood and the clinical unpleasantness – yet there was none of that.

Han looked at her the same. Han always looked at her the same.

Leia turned her head to gaze at the hallway entrance, her thoughts drifting to Han in the bedroom, Han fighting a fever, Han, Han –

"Han is so strong," she said, facing her father again. "It _astounds_ me, Daddy," she whispered. "I don't mean nothing bothers him. That sounds soulless – and I know when Han is bothered. I feel it. I mean," she caught her breath before going on: "the _way_ he survives suffering, the way he takes hits and – doesn't sustain damage."

She swallowed hard.

"I grew up so protected that everything that happened to me was pure shell shock, trauma I could not fathom, much less contend with – but Han…he grew up so roughly, so brutally, that I think he absorbs the evil in the world – because he thinks it's the norm. I was unhinged by the atrocities in the galaxy and Han – I think the _good_ unhinges him."

Bail smiled at her gently.

"Perhaps that is one of the reasons you are right for each other."

Leia nodded, her lips trembling again. She leaned forward to set aside her mug, and then turned, gathering Zozy up into her arms and holding him close to her chest. He chirped sleepily, but happily, his tongue lolling out, and Leia still endeavored to hold back tears.

"I lost it when the nurse hooked him up to the treatment, the first day," she whispered. "I could barely hold myself together. This whole ordeal – it affects his health whether we have a baby or not, so it isn't voluntary, yet I still feel like he's doing it _for me_."

She kissed Zozy's head, her eyes downcast.

"And I'm sitting out here, barely able to stand seeing him hurt, when he's always stayed with me, and always been there for me, despite how much it bothers him when I'm upset."

Her father sat forward a little, contemplating her words. He reached for his tea, took a long drink, and then set it back down thoughtfully, turning to her.

"I told Han this, once," he said calmly. "People cannot take care of each other unless they also take care of themselves."

He let that sink in for a moment, before continuing:

"I think you are right about Han's strength. He has considerable strength. Some people are simply able to bear things. It isn't a question of superiority, but a result of what life has forced one to adjust to. I will never believe, however, that you lack strength because you need to walk away from seeing him suffer, or you need a moment to sort yourself out."

Bail reached out to take both of her hands, carefully not to disturb Zozy. She let the mooka settle in her lap, squeezing her father's fingers tightly.

"I told you already that I understand you're still hurting so much," he said quietly. "It hasn't been," he took a deep breath, "it hasn't been three months since you lost your baby, and with all of this, you're feeling it _that_ much all over again, and compounding it is how sick Han is – all so that you two can move on."

He shrugged simply.

"I can't imagine what you're going through – "

"You and Mama – "

"No, Leia. I can relate to some things, but every person's _personal_ suffering is different, and I will never presume to know exactly what you and Han feel. I can say that if the carbon toxicity he has had been discovered some other way, I doubt you would be so heartbroken, and so emotionally wrecked. You would worry for him, and fuss over him, but you would be able to – how were you putting it? – be there for him, all by yourself. The intervening factors here are different."

Bail lifted his brows.

"I think perhaps you underestimate Han," he added, though he did not clarify his statement much: "I would argue that unbeknownst to you, he seeks support for himself. From Chewbacca, for instance. Maybe Luke."

 _Or myself,_ Bail thought, though he had no intention of telling Leia that Han had needed plenty of support and advice after the miscarriage; he didn't want Leia to take it as an statement that she had neglected Han's grief due to the sharpness of her own.

She looked at him for a long time, considering all that he had said.

"When did you say that?" she asked. "To Han."

The viceroy smirked a little.

"Han and I have plenty of moments that you aren't privy to," he said smugly.

Leia bit her lip, and smiled. She clutched at his hands again tightly, and bowed her head, nodding slowly to show understanding of all he had said. She felt mixed up - she wasn't sure what had possessed her to talk about Jabba with her father, except she had stepped into the middle of the conversation without realizing it, and then it came tumbling out of her. She had been feeling selfish lately, because of her own pain, and her desire to get this all behind them, god, just get it behind them – and her memory of the thrill she'd felt back then, the darkness in her fingertips, had been a manifestation of that.

Bail stood, and kissed the top of her head, pointing to their teacups.

"Shall I heat these up a bit?" he asked.

Leia sat back, and sighed, thinking about it. She closed her eyes, a few more tears falling, and her father instead sat down on the edge of the kaffe table, placing his hand on her knee until she opened her eyes again.

"Lelila?" he asked.

"He's blaming himself," she whispered, "and I just want to make him stop feeling that way. I don't know how. I don't know what to tell him that I haven't already said."

Bail sat forward and hugged her – awkwardly, as Zozy lifted his head in protested and nipped at Bail's robes protectively. Leia held his shoulders tightly and drew some strength with him, and then leaned back, her eyes red.

Bail tapped her cheek lightly, giving her a strong, confident nod.

"You say it calmly, and honestly, until he believes you, Leia," he said. "Has he ever made you believe something you doubt about yourself?"

She nodded, thinking – _every time he told me that I wasn't ruined, until it became so obvious to me I thought I was foolish for ever thinking it._

"Say it like he said it to you," Bail advised, and then stood slowly again, gesturing at the mugs. "Tea?"

Leia shook her head.

"I think," she began huskily, and turned her head at the sound of Chewbacca shuffling down the hall.

He poked his furry head in to look at them, large brown eyes adjusting to the different light, and then came forward, giving Leia a kind look.

 _[He wants you,]_ he said gently. _[The fever diminished a little after I administered the hydration drip,]_ he told her. _[He went to sleep for a bit, and woke up distressed. Nightmare.]_

Leia nodded, standing swiftly. She placed Zozy gently down on the couch, leaving him to his own devices, and stepped forward to kiss her father's cheek and give him a meaningful look, thanking him silently for his sage council, and his willingness to listen, and be there, and love her.

She slipped past Chewie, squeezing his paw for all the same reasons – and for all he did for Han, acting as his rock in times when Leia was none the wiser.

Emboldened by her brief moment of respite and introspection, she squared her shoulders, and went back into the room, where Han was sitting up against a few pillows, hunched forward, his forehead pressed into his knees. She shut their bedroom door behind her, and crawled into bed next to him, reaching for his shoulders.

He shivered violently, and she move closer, knowing that this time, her body heat would be a blessing, instead of an irritant.

Lifting his head, he looked at her blearily.

"Leia," he said hoarsely, relieved.

He turned and leaned into her, and Leia caught him in her arms, fingers sinking into his tangled hair.

"Bad dream," he ground out, his voice unsteady. "You okay?" His hand brushed at her thigh, and then at her abdomen, grasping for the closest part of her to touch, and anchor himself to her presence. He shivered again, shaking his head with a groan. He was bogged down in half-memories, of the agonizing months when he'd hung in suspension, his mind barely lucid, thinking only of what they had done to Leia – _is she okay? Is she –_

She stretched her legs out, gently guiding his head to her lap, and began to run her hands over him soothingly, yanking the covers back up around him. Her palms pressed into his shoulders, and then against his heart, and she rested his head against her abdomen, watching over him protectively, talking to him in soft, reassuring murmurs – she was okay, and he was okay; the worst of this was almost over – and when it was done, they could set their sights on freedom from this sorrow.

* * *

 _\- alexandra_


	3. Three

_a/n: and so we come to an end (sad!)_

* * *

Part Three

7 ABY

* * *

Given the amount of time she had spent in it over the past several months, Leia had mixed feelings about Dr. Mellis' office as she sat in it once again awaiting a significant discussion.

There was an understandable dichotomy to the way she viewed the place; it was where she had first met Dr. Mellis after Pooja's recommendation, and where she had a difficult conversation regarding the specifics of all she went through on the Death Star, and how that related to her fertility concerns. It was where she had been told there should be _no_ problem, where she had received a positive confirmation of her medical pregnancy test – and where she had been told, again, that there was nothing wrong with her, but that there _was_ a problem with Han. The fact that the internal issue on Han's part was a thing that could be remedied didn't make it painless to deal with.

Contemplating all that had happened as she sat quietly with Han – neither of them pacing the floor this time around – she tentatively thought of the future. If all went well – if all could go well, after this, from now on, there was a chance she might never have to sit here for miserable reasons again. It was nettling that she associated her obstetrician's office with dread and uncertainty, when it should be a place of hope and happiness – with some appropriate nerves mixed in.

Han slouched in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His attention was half-heartedly focused on his bicep, which he kept glaring at as he flexed his fist opened and closed. The extensive bruising caused by the treatment had faded over the past few days, turning from a mottled mess of black and blue to a duller green and tan.

He said it was no longer sore, though Leia wasn't quite sure she believed him. He had recovered from the third round of treatment slower than he had the second, though the convalescence was not prolonged in any sense of the word. His immune system handled it well, and for the most part he shook off the malaise that the bacta flushed through his blood with as much effort as it took any healthy man to get over a particularly severe flu.

They were here today, after Dr. Soivrin's imposed down period, to determine whether everything had worked as expected. There was no reason to believe it hadn't, yet still Leia felt apprehensive. She wanted – more than anything – to walk out of this office today with the firm conviction that when she and Han were ready to try this again, they would have nothing but good things to look forward to.

Han tilted his head back lazily, rolling it to the side to look at her.

"What are we doing tonight?" he asked.

Leia blinked, rousing herself a little, and rolled her head towards him, considering him a moment before shrugging.

"What do you want to do?" she answered.

He mimicked her shrug.

"Shouldn't we do somethin'?" he asked. He waved his hand. "Kinda…celebrate all this bein'…done with?"

Leia pursed her lips, lowering her lashes a little.

"If we _are_ in the clear," she allowed.

Han extended his arm, his palm up, and waved his fingers at her. She placed her hand in his.

"We are," he said firmly, arching a brow. "You know we are," he added, his lips turning up a little. "You can sense it, can't you?"

He squeezed her hand gently. He'd sat with her again while she mediated last week, keeping her company out on the balcony as she sat in silence and cloaked herself in that ethereal therapy he did not understand. She had come out of it feeling calm, accepting, and optimistic – much like she had shortly after Corellia, and she said to him that she was almost sure she could feel something so _good_ for them -

"I can feel something," she confirmed softly. "It's not always a perfect answer. Luke taught me that. I feel good when I meditate, right now."

She paused, biting her lip thoughtfully.

"It may be related to a baby," she said, and pulled his hand towards her, tucking it against her breast. She shrugged. "It may only be…the Force reminding me that I have you," she murmured, "and that gives me a lot of happiness, even in the face of the bad things we go through."

Han looked at her quietly a long time, and then his mouth turned up in a half smile. He tugged his hand back, pulling hers with it, and kissed her knuckles. His lips trailed over her fingers as he loosened his grip a little, and nodded.

"Yeah," he muttered, looking around the office. "Wouldn't really want any of this without you, anyway," he reminded her.

Leia smiled, and crossed her legs, drawing her hand back when he released it.

"I suppose we ought to make something of the evening," she reflected. She hesitated, and nodded at him delicately. "How are you…feeling?"

Noting that her nod was directed below his waist, Han's head fell back heavily and his brow furrowed. He thought about it, and grimaced warily, shaking his head. It physically pained him to give nonverbal notice of his lack of stamina, much less say it out loud. He'd rather subtly warn her off the idea now than let his ego get the best of him and drag them right back into the situation they'd been in before his treatment.

His relationship with Leia was so much more than sexual intimacy, but difficulties in that area took such a grueling mental toll even if the both of them well understood the intervening reasons.

"I want you, Sweetheart," he said honestly, and caught her eye, summoning one of his charming grins. "I want my stamina _and_ my wits back first,"he drawled, his tone a little dry – it wasn't stamina that had been the problem a few weeks ago, it was the guilt he couldn't shake, and the lurking apprehension that he might hurt her again.

Leia's expression was inviting, sultry, and she pursed her lips attractively, holding his gaze through her lashes.

"There are things you do not need much endurance for," she teased gently, tapping her index finger against her lips suggestively. "You deserve a treat."

Han's eyes darkened a little, enticed, and he smirked at her admiringly.

"You ain't got to twist my arm," he retorted – but lifted his head a little, and gave her a sharper look. "You don't owe me for this, Leia," he added. "It was for me as much as you," he said.

He stopped talking for a moment, and then shrugged.

"I want a baby, too," he reminded her – as if she needed reminding; it was something she had known long before she came to her own terms, about her own desires.

"I know," Leia told him simply, compressing her lips. "It is not all about," she sighed, and gestured at her abdomen, "a baby. It's about _your_ life, too. And," she added, her voice trembling just slightly, "the reasons you went through this don't change the fact that it was unpleasant, and rough," she told him, "and I _want_ to take your mind off that. I want to make you feel good."

Han's head rested back on the chair, his shoulders tight. He folded his arms, tapping his fingers against his bicep and looking at her intently.

"Yeah," he said huskily, finally dipping his head in a nod. He gave her a mildly stern glare. "Y'don't _have_ to give me a blowjob."

Leia laughed hoarsely, her face flushing. She leaned back, settling herself primly against the other armrest of her chair, and turned her head so he was treated to her profile as she focused her attention elegantly on Dr. Mellis' empty chair.

"You know I like it," she said.

"Mmm," Han murmured, arching a brow. "Think you like what it _does_ to me, more'n anything."

She tried to compress a wicked smile, and closed her eyes lightly. Han smirked to himself, amused, and straightened up, sitting forward to lean on his knees. He looked at his bruised arm thoughtfully, and turned to stare at her again, happy to have her, marveling – constantly – at his good fortune.

"Hey, Your Worship?" he called, his jaw tight.

She looked over at him again, and he lifted his chin with determination.

"It wasn't that bad," he said gruffly, digging his knuckles into his arm for emphasis. "Even the worst of it," he said, scowling instinctively, "wasn't as bad as back on Tatooine - worth it, Leia." he said, swallowing hard. "Worth it for me, 'cause I got to be alive to bother you the rest of your life," he said, deadpan. "Worth it for you, so you don't go through," he pointed at her abdomen, "that again," he finished.

She pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes stinging, and blinked delicately. It was easy to compose herself – yet she felt a deeper twinge of something in her chest; she wanted to reach out, take his hand again – _we_ , she wanted to say, the word he'd so adamantly used throughout all of this sadness – _we_.

She was sensitive, lately, to the notion of his selflessness; she had been sensitive to it more so since the day she broke down in the treatment room – she was still feeling he held back for her sake, that their relationship could sometimes be unbalanced, uneven, in how much he was required to give to her while she struggled to maintain strength when he needed it from her most.

The office door softly opened, and Leia cleared her throat, shaken out of her reverie – though she held onto her thoughts for later. She wanted to talk to Han, as these next few days unfolded, if she could find the right moment – remind him of what she'd said at Varykino. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it mattered to her: she wanted him to be able to utterly fall apart around her, if he _ever_ needed to.

She had felt, so sharply, that he was on the verge of that several weeks ago; she felt it now, too – and it made her ache for him. As much as she knew, and _believed_ , that he didn't resent dealing with her, so to speak – he _had_ to have moments of pure exhaustion – hell, she exhausted herself –

"Ah, you both look as if you've had your fill of this place," Dr. Mellis said, gesturing around wildly as she closed her office door. She smiled wryly, her files tucked under her arm, and made her way to her desk, pausing in front of her chair. "You'll be on your way quickly – we have very little to discuss."

She cleared her throat and sat down.

"Mixi's expertise is demanded at her practice this afternoon, though her presence is not needed here since I only have to deliver you the good news I had already assured you that this would bring."

Dr. Mellis sat back, spreading her hands out over her datapad, though not picking it up, or bothering to have Han and Leia lean forward to view anything on it.

"Han, the marrow and tissue samples we took earlier this week are clean," she informed him without preamble. "The carbon was a toxin trapped in the marrow, and given that it has been eradicated, and was never a mutant cell deficiency, you won't be troubled by it again."

She gave a succinct nod to punctuate her words.

"Mixi did note that she advises we screen you one final time when you and Leia decide to try to conceive again, but it will be nothing more than a formality for peace of mind."

"That's fine," Han said harshly, almost before Dr. Mellis was through speaking – though without intending to sound rude. He nodded, holding his hand up for emphasis. "Peace of mind's good," he added.

"I certainly agree," Dr. Mellis answered. "She also advised that if you experience any performance or stamina issues, that won't last," she said, expertly advising without appearing to give it too much gravity.

Han shrugged.

"You needn't worry, Arksiah," Leia said. "I'll take it easy on him."

Dr. Mellis smiled wryly.

"Only briefly," she said. "Mixi also noted that when your system is back to normal, a _true_ normal, you'll likely feel ten years younger," she revealed. "That will be the benefit of regulating something that has been just incrementally off, year by year."

Han's brows went up at that, and he turned to Leia, bringing his hand up to brush his knuckles under his jaw.

"You hear that?" he murmured. "Ten years younger, puts me 'bout even with you," he drawled. "Think you can handle it?"

Leia tilted her head back and forth a little flirtatiously. She said nothing.

Dr. Mellis smiled encouragingly at their banter. She leaned forward, pulling her chair up. She looked between them thoughtfully, her hands folded passively on the desk in front of her, and she tilted her head at Leia, her brow knit with gentle concern.

"At this point, I want to get a feel for how _you_ are," she said.

Her eyes lingered on Leia, though she was speaking to both of them, and she took great care to convey that.

"I know," she went on, "that I am a medic and by no means a therapist, but I deal plenty in affairs of the heart and mind in my profession," she said kindly. "I've seen heartache in my field many times."

She nodded, holding her hands out openly.

"You feel like you're coping okay?" she asked. "Both of you?"

Han looked at Leia, and she looked at him, both of them considering each other for a long pause. She gave a slow nod, and Han followed her lead, relieved to see her do it. She turned back to Dr. Mellis, while Han looked at her a beat longer before doing the same.

"I am…trying not to _rush_ getting over it," Leia said quietly. "There is a lingering empty feeling."

Dr. Mellis nodded, her lips pursed in understanding.

"That is very normal. More than you know," she said kindly. She turned to Han, and Han gave her an unreadable look; Dr. Mellis seemed to sense what Leia already knew: _he_ wasn't going to voice anything in this office.

"I want you to know it's also normal for some women to feel some sense of," Dr. Mellis hovered her hand around her heart, looking for the right words, "guilt, or shame, when they _are_ feeling ready to try again," she said. "It's not uncommon."

Leia nodded, and took a deep breath. She lifted her eyes up to the ceiling, biting the inside of her lip, and shook her head.

"I'm doing okay," she said shakily, her eyes drifting down to Han. "We both are," she said, though it was a little uncertain there, as she searched Han's eyes for confirmation.

He got up and moved to her side, pushing his hand over her forehead and hair gently and cupping the back of her head in his hand before he nodded, pulling her close to his side and standing there protectively with her.

He nodded again, for Dr. Mellis' benefit.

"That's good to hear," the doctor said sincerely. She interlaced her fingers again, and inclined her head at Leia. "And how are you feeling about your contraceptive?" she asked. "Is the shot working for you?"

Leia shrugged lightly. She tucked her hand into Han's belt, and rested her head against his ribs comfortably; content to have him there, and amenable to the display of affection in this relative privacy.

"It takes some adjustment," she murmured.

"Are you interested in having an implant put back in?" Dr. Mellis asked delicately. "They're certainly more stabilizing in terms of hormones, and your cycle," she listed, holding up her palm cautiously. "I only ask because I know it was your preferred method," she said. "Do not think I want you to do one thing or another."

Leia considered it silently, unsure. She had received a shot prior to leaving for Corellia, and several weeks after their return, received one again to cover her for another eight weeks.

She tilted her head up at Han, looking at his jaw for a moment, and then looked back down, shaking her head slowly.

"No, I don't think so," she said, taking another deep breath. She smiled bravely. "The implant is…very secure," she said, laughing shakily. "If I go back to it, I might lose my nerve to have it out again."

She didn't want that – she _knew_ that with more time, it would all seem clear, and optimistic again, and she looked forward to that.

"Understood," Dr. Mellis said. She leaned back slightly and tapped her datapad. "In that case, I will write you an appointment for," she looked up and checked a calendar projected on a neat little board on her desk, "next month, to keep you protected."

Han cleared his throat, sliding his hand into his pocket. He looked down at Leia.

"Uh, well," he said slowly. "You want me to get the shot this next time, Leia?" he asked.

"It doesn't bother me," Leia murmured honestly – and it didn't; it was such a routine, small shot, that she could bear it with a quick moment of bliss grasped from the Force, and it was over; it was nothing like having to cause pain to him with a needle, or facing things such as that in a state of already heightened stress.

"Yeah, I know," Han said gruffly, shrugging. "'Cept it'd give you a break from the hormones for a month or so," he trailed off for a moment. "You just been through a lot, Sweetheart," he said heavily. "Let me get it this month," he nudged. "I figure I ought to have offered to already."

Leia turned her head a little, her nose pressing into his shirt. She swallowed hard, basking in him for a moment, smug and humbled, all at once, to have ended up with a man like this.

She sat forward, giving Dr. Mellis a wry look as she nodded.

"Well, if he insists," she said huskily, and narrowed her eyes, mustering a playful expression to throw over her shoulder at him before she turned back to Mellis with an arched brow. "He _seems_ selfless," she warned, "but it's only that the hormones make me bitchy."

Han made a soft noise of outrage, drawing away, affronted.

"That's not why I'm - !"

Leia silenced him with a knowing look, well aware that wasn't his motive at all, but taking momentary refuge from her overwhelming feelings about his offer and the joke.

Han afforded her a mock scowl, and rested his arm on the back of her chair, shifting his weight to one leg and leaning towards her some.

Dr. Mellis smirked to herself and made a few notes, organizing things so that the updated note on the schedule forwarded directly to Leia's holo access point – which meant Tavska would make a note of it accordingly. She lifted her head, standing, and braced her palms on the table for a moment, looking at them both intently. Then she leaned forward, and extended her hand – first giving Han a warm, firm handshake, and then doing the same with Leia.

Leia stood to receive it, and Dr. Mellis pressed her hand tightly for a moment, before letting go. She nodded emphatically at them, satisfied with what they had been able to do, and satisfied that they were going to be okay –

\- and Leia felt an immense relief crash over her, relief at the treatment being over, relief at having overcome _something_ , even as she still felt as if she had been hollowed out – she felt she was able to go home with Han tonight, seduce him into a bubble bath, fool around with him, feel unburdened for a little while – and in a _good_ way, in the safety of their bed, cry a little because Han was in the clear, so _they_ were in the clear, and that unshackled their grieving process from the rut it had hovered in while that poison still lurked under his skin.

* * *

When it was all said and done, Han figured that in some way, the whole ordeal of the miscarriage might well have been the most normal sadness they had ever faced. Normal, of course, was a critically relative term, and in a galaxy as vast and diverse as theirs, the idea of a norm was damn near farcical. Despite such a varied gamut of experience, there was a sort of commonality between all human societies and human experiences – in some form or another, there was marriage, there was death, there was sickness, parenthood, love, grief – loss of a child.

From culture to culture, the routine aspects of what could happen in an uneventful life included things like this – and he and Leia, for so long living their lives in dire circumstances, and then _still_ in abnormal circumstances, as lionized public figures at the center of power struggles and governance, had existed outside of that norm.

Leia had said that herself, _felt_ that herself: they had been through more than their fair share of heartache and tragedy, but it had thus far been so astronomically unique and devastating that it left them reeling years later. Han's rough street upbringing, and later his experience with electrical grid torture and the carbon hibernation, existed in a realm he hadn't imagined or comprehended until it happened – the same was true of Leia's loss of Alderaan, and all the wretched horrors she'd seen since.

Han figured that his initial conflict with her father – an age old, suitor-versus-parent conflict, as Carlist Rieekan had always pointed out – had come closest to normal, but the unbelievable odds of Bail's survival and his reappearance in Leia's life precluded even that from being a run of the mill rough period.

So it came down to this, losing the baby, that anchored them to a post-war reality – it was, as it turned out, a remnant of things that had happened during the fight, but a thing that also drew them constantly forward into a better future, rather than shackling them to the past. It was, as she had confided in him, Leia's first encounter with grief that she processed healthily on an interpersonal level, and despite the pain it brought, it signified a break from the frustrated, traumatic repression of the past. For Han himself, it was enlightening in a way he couldn't entirely understand – throughout it all, even the treatment, he had felt safely in possession of his life, of his family, and until recently – he hadn't even realized – he had still been anxious, in the back of his mind, that any moment – this could all be ripped away.

Losing Leia, in any capacity, would always be his greatest fear, but somehow the past few months had alleviated the constant anxiety that simmered in his soul over his worth in regards to her, or his ability to maintain this life – he knew they were set in stone. It always seemed impossible to him that he and Leia could be any closer, and yet this _had_ , so delicately, brought them closer.

It seemed strange, and almost sinister, that he could feel an invigoration in his relationship as a byproduct of their loss, but it wasn't a cruel thing, and it wasn't something he felt because he was callous, or because he didn't care. He and Leia had gotten through the worst of it – the miscarriage, on her part, and the treatment, on his – with a deep, rich trust in the strength of their feelings for each other. He had taken care of her, she had taken care of him – and there had been very little resistance to that need for each other.

It was as if they had abandoned – any remaining vestiges of pride, or resistance to their own insecurities and weaknesses, and not only relied completely on each other, but took strength from that, and renewed it.

In the days after his last treatment, as the remnants of his bacta cocktail faded and he began to feel entirely himself again, Han reflected on what he'd said to Leia on Naboo last year – _last year? It felt like a century ago_. He'd told her that in some way, he wanted to have children with her because he needed some other outlet for his feelings – _I love you, Leia, a lot more than you can handle, and it's got to go somewhere._ When he thought of that, he thought the brutal, beautiful thing about it was that he had been given only the barest taste of what it would feel like to be a father – father to _Leia's_ children – and it wasn't going to alleviate the intensity of his feelings for her, it would amplify it beyond anything he could imagine.

He could feel that amplified sentiment at his fingertips, and he wanted it so badly that it hurt.

Undergoing the treatment had drawn a sharper grief out of him than he'd experienced when he was at Leia's side as it happened – then he had been bewildered, hurting more for her than anything else, devastated in the abstract; now it felt more tangible, if still just outside of his reach.

He had enough restraint not to push Leia, not in the slightest, yet as he'd vaguely worried – his own clean bill of health made him almost ravenous to try again, and he knew – he _knew_ – his wife still needed time.

He knew he was damn glad that he didn't have to worry about dropping dead from carbon toxicity – that he was going to _live_ – because it meant there was time to realize all of the things he and Leia wanted.

 _[Cub?]_

Chewbacca's wary growl echoed down the halls of the Falcon, and Han cocked his head, listening to the sound of the Wookiee's footsteps. He didn't answer; well aware Chewie was on his way to _check_ on him.

Even though it had been a full two days since Han had last gotten light headed and –

 _[Are you still upright?]_

Han rolled his eyes, scuffing his boot loudly on the floor of his cabin. He folded his arms, waiting for Chewie to barge in, and remained where he was, leaning lazily against a metal rack of cabinets.

Chewbacca peered in and nodded, obscuring the doorway with his large frame.

 _[It is generally polite to answer,]_ he growled.

Han shrugged.

"Told you, 'm fine now."

 _[You are still sleeping more than usual,]_ Chewie pointed out. _[You are still on medical leave, as well.]_

Han snorted wryly.

"Yeah, I'm stretchin' that," he joked. He arched a brow. "You ever think I might be _milkin'_ it?" he goaded, lifting one of his hands and pointing at Chewie seriously. "Leia's been _very_ affectionate for the past week and I ain't lookin' forward to losin' that."

 _[Leia is always affectionate to you,]_ Chewie retorted.

Han shook his head smugly, tilting it to the side.

"Yeah, but she's been comin' home and _not_ doin' any work outside of the office," he bragged. "She's givin'-me-nightly-shoulder-massages affectionate."

Chewbacca arched an eyebrow.

 _[I want to mock you for needing your mate to cuddle you, but you've both been through hell lately,]_ he said dryly – and Han agreed with the statement so thoroughly, that he forgot to bristle at being told he was being a clingy little thing.

 _[Perhaps you can ask her to braid your hair again,]_ Chewie mumbled.

Han eyed him sharply.

"Ask her to _what_?" he demanded.

Chewie raised his shoulders innocently, shrugged, and did not repeat anything – the Viceroy had related the story to him a few days ago, and though Chewbacca understood Leia's sensitivity to Han's illness, he was mildly disappointed she had not allowed Bail to take holos of the tiny braids.

He drew his lips back in a thoughtful smile, and nodded his head to the side.

 _[Bail sent a message. He's on his way down to the hangar,]_ he said. _[I told him you'd comm if you did not want him around.]_

Han shrugged. He didn't care if Bail came and bummed around – he wasn't about to comm him and tell him to stay away.

 _[What are you doing in here, anyway?]_ Chewbacca growled curiously.

Han shrugged again.

"Thinkin,'" he said bluntly.

Chewbacca's brows when up.

 _[That's new.]_

"Funny," Han retorted, glaring at him.

Chewbacca folded his arms and considered Han. He looked at him for a long time, and then gave a snuffling sigh, his lips drawing back slowly as if he was choosing his words carefully.

 _[You sure you are all right, Cub?]_ he asked intently. _[You were out of it for a day or two. I know that irks you.]_

Han nodded, looking down at his foot.

"Yeah, fine," he said gruffly.

He thought about saying something else, but he wasn't really sure what to say. He'd been in here thinking about his relationship with Leia, about what they had been through – because he knew they were on the verge of the next step in this process of moving on.

They were out of the rut that had separated the raw grief from the secondary grief his treatment brought on, and that left them both on a new horizon – and his own introspection didn't leave him one hundred percent certain of where Leia's head was after taking care of him last week.

Han hesitated again, and then said exactly what came to mind –

"I dunno what to do next, I guess," he blurted. "I feel better," he grunted, shrugging – and he did, mentally, and as the days went on, physically as well, though he hadn't quite yet gotten the nerve to try anything more than heavy petting when it came to his and Leia's more intimate exploits – they had run into such a minefield of negative sexual moments lately that he wanted the moment they dove back in to be – _effortless_.

He frowned at himself.

"Think I'm worried I feel too much better," he said finally, his tone drying up. He lowered his hands and gripped the edge of the drawers behind him. "I don't wanna…get ahead of her, y'know," he muttered.

Chewbacca dipped his head in understanding.

 _[Han, you've always had an impressive knack for empathy even when a person you love is going through something you cannot relate to,]_ he offered sagely. _[I have seen you console Leia. I think you sometimes forget that these walls hide nothing, and my ears pick up everything,]_ he added. _[I was there on the way to Bespin.]_

Han gave him a funny look, and Chewbacca snorted grimly, shaking his head.

 _[Ah, there are things I can be deaf for – but there were things I did not know I needed to be deaf for until I had already heard,]_ he said imploringly. _[Leia told you she was abused by an Imperial soldier, a thing you could never begin to understand. Yet she felt safe. You comforted her anyway,]_ he pointed out.

Chewbacca nodded almost to himself.

 _[I do not think you need to worry that you will become insensitive to Leia merely because you recovered more quickly.]_

Han looked surprised, but clenched his jaw, nodding.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Thanks, pal."

 _[I think you will have your younglings,]_ Chewie offered quietly. _[There is still plenty of time.]_ He paused, and then gave Han a toothy smirk. _[After all, Leia is quite a bit younger than you.]_

Han shot him a dark look.

"Get out," he ordered.

Chewbacca guffawed, and as he backed away, Han leaned forward, glaring after him –

"'M gonna be feelin' ten years younger, y' know," Han shouted after him indignantly. "Doc's words!"

He only heard Chewbacca laughing, and then Chewbacca shuffling around loudly in one of the cargo holds, getting down to business. Scowling to himself, Han left his cabin to make sure the _Falcon's_ ramp was unlocked for Bail, and then strode back to his bunkroom, wracking his head for something to do.

He rubbed his forehead, and went back to his chest of drawers, sliding open the top one. A rattling noise echoed around the cabin as the contents fluttered around on the bottom of the drawer, and Han considered them, his eyes on the wilting arallutes. Removed from sunlight, they were not blooming as they should be; their growth cycle was diminished, and they would never curl in and delicately harden into seeded rattles.

Han picked one up and looked at it thoughtfully. Everything in this drawer had been something he or Leia had been given for the baby. He had stashed all of it when they returned from Corellia, before too many stark reminders could shock her. She knew the things had been kept out of sight for her benefit, though she had never said a word about it. He had yet to decide if he needed to give them back to her at some point, or tell her where he had put them in case she was ever ready to use them again, or put them somewhere that meant something to her – perhaps in the same place she kept her mother's coronation circlet, and Shmi Skywalker's diary.

He heard footsteps in the hall and looked over vaguely, watching the doorway. He heard Bail greet Chewbacca, and then waited for his father-in-law to appear, giving him a gruff nod of greeting when he did.

"Han," Bail greeted, folding his arms and leaning in the doorway.

"You can come in," Han said, looking back at his drawer and lowering his hand. He arched a brow. "Don't have to hover in the doorway."

"Am I going to see anything I would rather not?" Bail retorted suspiciously, eyeing the private cabin.

He spent very little time on the _Falcon_ , but he knew Leia spent _plenty_ of time there.

Han glanced over his shoulder and shrugged.

"I wouldn't sit on the bed," he suggested, nonchalant.

Bail gave him a narrow look, and came forward, folding his hands into his sleeves. He approached Han's side cautiously, looking down at the drawer.

"What is all this?" he asked quietly.

Han handed him an arallute.

"Some stuff I put away for Leia," he answered, picking up the knit white shoes Ryoo Naberrie had sent. He held them – both of them – in his palm. "She hasn't even seen these, I hid 'em before they got to her."

He narrowed his eyes intently, shaking his head. He looked up at Bail.

"They really _this_ small?" he asked. "Babies?"

Bail reached out to touch the shoes, tilting his head. He nodded.

"You won't believe it until you see it," he confirmed mildly.

Han frowned, and replaced the shoes. He held out his hand for the flower, and Bail looked at it for a moment, studying its slowly wilting petals, and its duller colours – without sunlight and care, the seeds softened, rather than crystalized into rattle beads.

"Metaphoric," Bail remarked, handing him the flower.

Han snorted dryly. He shut the drawer and turned to lean against it, tilting his head at Bail.

"Come to check up on me?" he asked.

The Viceroy shrugged.

"Leia said you were all but back to your old self today," he said. "I have to admit, it's nice to see you up and about."

Han grinned.

"I'll bet," he snorted. "She told me I kept verbally abusin' you when I had a fever."

Bail rolled his eyes.

"I don't believe you knew what you were saying."

"I hope I did," Han retorted.

"You revealed that you taught Zozy to growl at me," Bail accused.

Han snorted, delighted.

Bail watched him with interest for a moment, and then arched his brows.

"You _are_ feeling yourself again, then?" he asked, sincere in his concern.

Han rubbed his jaw, nodding smoothly.

"Yeah, Viceroy, 'm good," he confirmed easily. He narrowed his eyes. "Finally got rid of that damn sinus headache," he muttered.

For days, a severe, flu-like headache had lingered, occasionally making him feel dehydrated or dizzy for fleeting spells even though all else was healing fine. He still had a fading, mottled bruise on his arm, too, though that looked more dashing than sickly.

Bail nodded firmly.

"Well, that is good to hear," he said. "I know none of this has been ideal, but at the very least it is _over_. I don't mean for this to sound – competitive, in terms of heartache," Bail said, "but it is a comfort to me, at least, that Leia – and yourself – don't have the uncertainty and the lack of hope that Breha and I did."

Han folded his arms tightly. He tapped his shoulder thoughtfully, and shrugged.

"Yeah, me too," he agreed. "Dunno if it's…over, for Leia," he said hesitantly. "She was pretty broken up the first day I got treated," he admitted. He rolled up his sleeve and pointed to a separate scar, the one left from the needle he ripped out. He ran his finger over it, frowning. "It is, sort of," he decided. "It's…cleaner, going forward."

Bail looked at the scar curiously, but did not ask. Han looked up from it and caught Bail's eye sharply.

"Thanks for stayin' with her while I was," he flicked his wrist distastefully, "out of it," he said, quoting Bail's words. He snorted gruffly. "She fight you on it?"

Bail shrugged.

"A bit," he agreed. "I think for _your_ sake, more than hers," he said bluntly.

Han grinned a little, and continued to look at Bail intently.

"She was okay?" he asked. He reached up and brushed his knuckles against his jaw, tilting his head – he had only hazy memories of the worst two days of his treatment reaction, and most of them involved Leia being there with him, right at his side.

If he remembered anything about how distressed she'd been after Jabba's Palace – and coupled with how upset the treatment made her in the first place –

Han was restless with concern, hoping the strain hadn't been too damaging.

He studied Bail's face carefully, and his father-in-law smiled at him calmly, nodding his head.

"She was," Bail said simply – he assured Han firmly, not only because it was true – Leia had handled herself, and Han, impeccably – but also because he also knew how his daughter agonized over Han's subjugation of his own hardships in favor of being there for her.

Bail had no intention of triggering any guilt in Han by implying Leia had been in pieces.

Bail arched his brows.

"She and I spoke briefly about the first iteration of your carbon poisoning," he said slowly.

"Yeah?" Han grunted. "What's there to tell?" he muttered. "Same bantha shit."

"There was quite a story about the fate of Jabba the Hutt."

Han caught Bail's eye sharply, deciphering that comment. He held the gaze for a moment, then looked down at his nails, and brought his thumb up to his mouth, biting down coolly.

"She told you 'bout that?" he asked around his nail, chewing on it – he wondered what had spawned that conversation, what brief interlude she had taken that pulled that story out of her.

"She did," Bail confirmed quietly.

Han bit down on his nail again, and pulled his thumb away from his teeth.

"That's when I decided I was gonna marry her," he said bluntly.

Bail's lips turned up in a wry smile.

"You think less of her or somethin'?" Han asked edgily.

"Quite the opposite," Bail murmured.

Han placed his hands behind him on the edge of the cabinets, his brow furrowing.

"What the hell got her talkin' about that?" he asked, exasperated. "You _sure_ she was okay?" he asked suspiciously – Leia _hated_ talking about that; she hated that she'd taken pleasure in extinguishing a life almost as much as she hated the realization that it had taken otherworldly, dark strength to do it.

Bail shrugged.

"It was an odd conversation, but not out of place," he reflected. "We were merely talking. The way fathers and daughters do."

Bail idled for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Han," he said. "You and Leia married before I was entirely adjusted to the idea. You know that. You also know that I've had my mind set at ease time and time again, not only by Leia's words, but through your actions."

He smiled tightly.

"I respect that you sought my advice in being there for Leia through all of this," he said. "I do hope that you know, regardless of your own doubts, that you have never failed her. From the way she speaks, you have always understood her on a deeper level."

Bail clasped his hands together firmly.

"You have no idea how great a relief it has been for me to let go of some of the endless worry a father _always_ has for a daughter in these matters," he said. "If, perhaps, one day you _do_ understand, for the sake of your own daughter," he said, smiling wryly, "I will be around to offer my sage wisdom, and mock you ceaselessly for suffering the same way I did."

Han arched a brow, smirking a little at that last, and shook his head, eyeing Bail carefully.

"Why're you gettin' all mushy on me, Viceroy?" he muttered.

"One in a while, I feel it is appropriate to thank you for being a man I _don't_ have to worry about."

Han smiled a little.

He shifted his feet, taking a deep breath and letting it out erratically, his brow furrowing.

"I don't want her to do that christening," he said heavily. "I hate seein' her hurt, and it's gonna hurt her."

Bail leaned against the cabinet, his shoulders sagging a little.

"I wouldn't place that burden on her, either," he said. "If it will make her feel close to Breha, though," he trailed off. "Let her be."

Han nodded – of course; unless he perceived she was endangering herself, Han was naturally inclined to let Leia be. He ground his teeth together, his jaw tight, thinking it over. The Haven opening was still a couple of months away; there was no telling how Leia would feel then, or what they would be up to.

He lifted his arm and scratched at the scar in the crook of his elbow, dwelling on her. She had _seemed_ as well as Bail implied for the past few days – Han had been intensely focused on berating himself back into perfect health since their last appointment with Dr. Mellis, and now he felt a need to re-attune himself to Leia's state of mind, maybe talk to her about how she had felt while he was writhing around in feverish nightmares.

He _thought_ this was their turning point, though he could be wrong – and he did not want to firmly resolve to start leaving this behind them if getting past the treatment hadn't unlocked her in the same way it unlocked him.

He folded his arms and looked over at Bail.

"You want to go grab a drink?" he grunted, for lack of anything better to do for the rest of the day – it was still working hours, and if Bail was here, he must have nothing pressing to attend to at his offices.

The Viceroy arched his brows, but nodded, and Han shoved himself forward, leaving the drawer full of items abandoned behind him. He grabbed a vest from the pile of wrinkled clothes on his bed, and threw it on, glancing at the drawer a few times anyway –

He figured he and Leia needed another heart-to-heart about grief, post-treatment – and he wanted to reassure himself that his incapacitation over the past few weeks hadn't interfered with her healing – more than anything, though, he wanted to stumble into a perfect moment when they could both feel some semblance of normalcy again and that, he knew, had little to do with talking - and everything to do with instinct.

* * *

She loved nights like these – loved them. Nights like these that unfolded so slowly, seemed to go on forever – nights that were a marathon of pleasure, kicked off early, with something innocuous, such as a languid kiss on the neck in the kitchen, and then tumbled through a thousand iterations of intimacy. Long, hot showers, sultry engagements in foreplay that were not mere means to a routine end, but attentive moments all their own – there was a tender, guarded part of her heart that thrived for this elongated closeness, the romance-driven, sexual haze that she and Han sometimes found time to drown in completely.

This night was all of that, and more – satisfying in such a way as so many of other times they had set aside all reason and all other aspects of life to lock a bedroom door and be lost in each other had been, but _more_ so in its own unique way – this felt like an utter surrender to a purer desire, a reclaiming of a rhythm that had stuttered and struggled since they had lost the baby.

It was impossible not to think, in the back of her mind – of that loss, and those feelings, but the difference was that for a moment it wasn't overwhelming; for a blissful few hours, she was consumed in being Leia, just Leia, and she had Han back in her arms – confident, charming, healthy – and the two of them forgot about the miscarriage and all of the baggage that came with it and found themselves in sync again over the course of an evening that took them all over their bed, tangled their sheets beyond belief, left them laughing, breathless, covered in sweat, entwined –

At the end of it, a slowing peak of victorious exhaustion, Leia's heartbeat had slowed as her head spun and she steadied her breathing, clinging to Han's shoulders with an aggressive grip that was gentle and possessive all at once. She bit her lip; her nose buried in Han's hair, breathing him in deeply, her breasts brushing against his chest as she moved her hips, her thighs hugging tight around his.

Han's breathing was ragged – warm against her neck, as he buried his lips in her clavicle. The sound of it – the _feel_ of him breathing, as his shoulders flexed under her hands, his chest rose and fell against hers, made her close her eyes, sense him without looking at him – his fingertips dug hard into her hips and she thrust down on him a little harder.

He jerked his head back and let it fall against the headboard behind him, eyes closed tightly.

Leia's hands rose to his neck, and she ran her thumbs in circles there, catching her breath. She leaned forward to kiss him, reinvigorating her relentless command of his hips. His palms slid up to her ribs, then back down to her hips, following the movement of her hips.

His mouth moved silently, and she placed a hand behind him against the headboard for leverage, picking up her pace with what was left of her energy – energy that had waxed and waned all evening, going through cycles of ravenous, and languid – this was – so good for her, it felt so right, she'd missed this, missed _him_ , and there was something so arousing about the evening culminating in her on his lap – she felt as if she had overcome some aspects of her grief, and Han had clearly gotten over his hang-ups, both emotional and physical – and it was just – so –

"Leia," Han said huskily, his hands running up to her ribs again – and around to her back, up her spine.

He groaned softly and drew her forward, his hand tangling into her hair at her neck. He tucked his head against her temple, his lips moving close to her ear. He mumbled something softly, incoherently, and then drew one of his legs up, his knee pushing her forward against him a little more.

Leia tilted her head back a little, taking another deep breath, and curled her hand against the edge of the headboard, using it to pull herself forward harder. Han swore softly.

"Mmm, Sweetheart," he groaned quietly. He swallowed hard, kissing her temple, moving his lips back to her ear. "I love – this," he told her, his breath catching sharply through his words each time she thrust her hips forward. "—you, love you, when you," he broke off, closing his eyes again – "fuck me," he murmured, his lips running along her jaw.

Leia bowed her head, her forehead pressing into his hair, and she bit back a grin, her face flushing pink – and she was so ambivalent about taking control like this in bed – though it sometimes nettled her slightly, she _liked_ Han to take the lead; it was never lack of confidence, not anymore, it was preference – she so often pushed herself to the breaking point in management of her career and her public life, it was a relief to surrender to Han and let him lavish her with affection and attention and do all the work –

\- that wasn't to say _this_ wasn't empowering and invigorating, having Han under her and in awe of her, clinging to her with the same fervor she often directed at him – she wanted it like this even more, right now, to wordlessly show him how unafraid she was of him, of being _with_ him – she was sure he knew that now, he'd shown no reticence all night, yet she wanted to reinforce it.

Leia moved her hips forward and Han slid his hands back down to her hips, gritting his teeth. He drew in a shuddering breath, and thrust his hips up sharply to meet hers, just as she pressed her knees down hard on either side of his thighs. She cried out softly at the intensity of it, and pressed her palm tight against his shoulder, holding still.

Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment, and her lashes fluttered, her breath breaking into short, soft. Han pulled his head back to look at her, and she pursed her lips, shaking her head.

"Oh, don't move," she whispered huskily. "Mmm. Mm, don't move," she murmured, her fingertips slipping against his skin, muscles tightening.

Han let his eyes roam over her, watching as she drew her bottom lip into her mouth in a look of brief, fierce concentration, and then gripping her thighs tightly as she trembled, her hand tightening on his shoulder, digging her nails in. She made a soft, enticing keening noise in the back of her throat, sweet and musical, and Han ached to move his hips, torn between the desire to watch her come, and to be a part of it.

Leia shifted her hips forward, gasping softly, all of the air rushing out of her lungs, and leaned heavily against his chest, tilting her head up to press her lips against his jaw in quick, hot kisses, nodding slowly – to herself, to him; she wasn't quite sure.

Han pressed his lips to her shoulder, sliding his hands over her thighs and then up to her breasts, his heart racing – she felt so unbelievably tight around him, and it was taking all he had to hold still for her –

"Leia," he groaned in her ear.

Her hand ran through his hair affectionately, and she nodded again, kissing his lips, her lashes brushing his cheeks as she pressed herself closer, tightened her muscles deliberately, and Han nearly lost his breath, his drifting up hazily – Leia kissed him again, losing herself in it, one of her hands drifting down his chest to find his, interlace their fingers.

The tight, permissive touch of her palm against his was all he needed to take what he needed in return; he shifted his foot, drove his ankle into the bed, and pushed her hips down against him hard, bucking his hips in a few erratic, rough thrusts, hyper-focused on the steady contractions of Leia's muscles as she eased down from her climax.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back at the last minute, pulling his mouth from hers, and Leia's unoccupied hand flew to his hair, stroking it back, then coming to rest at his jaw, her thumb tracing his lip. She still gripped his fingers hard in her other, and he opened his eyes to look at her as he tensed, locked in the throes of his own climax – he anchored her hips to his; she pressed her thumb against his lips until he drew it into his mouth and bit it, his shoulders shuddering roughly.

Leia breathed out quietly and leaned forward, relaxing against his chest and reveling, for a quiet moment, at the feel of him snug inside her, at the rough tenderness of her hips secured against his – the way he fit against her, in side her; it was the spiritual definition of perfect.

She pressed her lips against his shoulder, and then moved her kisses down to his chest, right over the heavy rhythm of his heart. She focused on his tensing muscles, soothing him, until he relaxed as much as she had, and then returned the favor, soothing her bite-marked thumb with a quiet kiss as he reached up to take her hand and hold it.

Leia lifted her head and met his eyes, shyly, through her lashes, and then more coquettishly, her skin colouring that fetching, soft pink he loved so much, and he looked back at her, one eyebrow cocked lazily, with a crooked, smug smirk.

She smiled a little more, and shook his grip loose, bringing both hands up to press against his neck and lean closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her there, their noses almost brushing. She did not feel compelled to speak, for the moment – and he was silent, too, just looking at her – both of them well aware that they had it _back_ – she was sure that there, in a solemn place in the back of his mind, the miscarriage was there, just as it was in hers, but it wasn't a dark shadow damning their intimate nights anymore – Leia didn't feel like crying, and Han wasn't distracted by the possibility of causing her pain.

Leia rested her forehead against his for a moment, and he traced his fingers up and down her spine lightly.

"Good?" he asked, murmuring in her ear.

Leia nodded slowly – she had lost track of how many times she'd come over the past few hours; there was a point at which she her nerves were feeling everything so intensely it seemed a constant cascade, punctuated by spikes of pleasure – and he hadn't worn himself out quickly either; Leia supposed this was a taste of that ten-years-younger syndrome that had been mentioned.

Han smirked a little brighter, and sat shifted forward a little to kiss her, his knee lowering slowly to the bed. Leia shifted her hips, and the movement drew a mild grimace from both of them, as Han reached down to tap on her ribs gently.

She drew her hand down to his chest, resting her palm on his heart. Interpreting his request effortlessly, she moved her hips gingerly and moved off of him, pressing a kiss to his bicep and rolling over onto her back among the tangled sheets. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly, her hand drifting down to her stomach and resting there hesitantly.

She inched her fingers further, brushing her knuckles against her thighs, and felt Han shift beside her.

He sat forward, ran his hands through his hair, and then turned to his side, rolling over and sweeping something off the floor. He rolled back towards her, and pressed a soft swatch of material into her hands – a discarded towel, from their post-'fresher romp.

Leia gave him a grateful look and ran the towel between her legs, tossing it to the floor on her side of the bed as Han burrowed down into the covers as close to her as he could get, a yawn pulling at his lips.

He closed his eyes and buried his face in her shoulder, his lips pursing in a lazy kiss, and then tucked one leg over hers loosely, ensuring they remained close to each other.

She turned her head, her lips bumping into his temple. She nudged her shoulder at him gently.

"No," she murmured, the corners of her mouth turning down in a pert little frown. "Don't go to sleep."

Han's arm wormed its way out from under him and he draped it over her hips, holding her firmly – alertly, as if to prove a point.

"'M not," he mumbled easily, his voice gruff, and teasing at her sated senses with mellow, tantalizing warmth.

Leia laughed quietly, turning to her side and curling up so she could face him. He grinned; eyes closed, and opened them slowly to peak at her, his eyes still dark and lustful, glittering with pride. She leaned in to kiss him slowly, moving her leg up to rest her knee gently between his thighs. When she pulled away slightly, Han adjusted his pillow so he could see her better, and there was silence again, until Leia found her voice.

"I missed this," she whispered.

Han nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed simply.

She swallowed hard.

"After the miscarriage it all got so," she paused, her lips pursing ruefully as she searched for the best way to characterize it.

"Unfamiliar?" Han tried, for once finding the exact right word, in a rare moment when her vocabulary failed her.

Leia tilted her head a little, nodding.

"Yes," she agreed softly. "Unfamiliar," she repeated, deliberately pronouncing each syllable of the word. "It was like the…way we were before Varykino," she started, frowning.

Han shook his head, frowning.

"Nah, it wasn't," he corrected.

"No, because then we were just mad at each other."

"Frustrated," he amended, and Leia smiled wryly.

She reached out and plucked at the edge of his pillowcase, still keeping close to him.

"This wasn't _that_ kind of tension," she whispered. "It wasn't tension at all. I _wanted_ to be with you," she murmured. "You wanted me, it just," she trailed off again, shrugging. "There was all this fear," she said finally. Her lashes lowered. "I don't know, maybe a little…guilt. Like we were betraying something."

Han snorted dryly.

"Yeah, can't enjoy somethin' when it led to the reason we're upset, right?" he agreed, reaching up to put his hand over hers, stilling the fidgeting movements. He tapped her knuckles. "Then you got me, thinkin' 'm gonna…poison you," he muttered, rolling his eyes tensely.

Leia looked up slowly. She saw the irritation and tension flit across his face, but it faded quickly, and he curved his palm around her hand more firmly, catching her eye to search her expression.

"We're okay now, Sweetheart."

"I know," she said. "We always were. It's just been rough."

Han nodded.

"You feelin' better?" he probed. He hesitated. "I mean – ahh," he trailed off.

"What?" Leia asked softly.

Han grunted in frustration, mostly at himself.

"Hey, I don't wanna get you down, or bring it up right now if you're feelin' good," he said. He paused again, frowning, and then shrugged. "Y'know, with the…grief," he decided finally, and then released her hand and snapped. "S'like what Chewie said – how's your heart?"

Leia laughed quietly, her face softening at the thought of Chewbacca's words. She smiled a genuine smile, her eyes lighting up even as they simmered with tears, and she lifted her shoulders, thinking about it.

"It is a little better," she said. "It's getting _better_ , Han," she promised.

She bit her lip, and turned her hand over in his, sighing.

"I can relax now that you've had that treatment," she murmured. "I can…shake loose all the fear that was," she gestured with her other hand, "building up in my chest about you. And," she took a deep breath, "now that we…know that was the problem, and it's fixed now," she gave a small shrug, "…it's more straightforward. It's simple. I – we," she corrected, "take it as it comes, and we think about…trying again," her voice shook a little, "some time."

Han nodded. He leaned forward, kissed her, and then shifted up, rooting around to untangle some quilts and draw them over them. He lay back down, tucking them in, and Leia inched a little closer, pleased with the turn of events. Han grinned and propped his elbow up on the pillow, looking down at her contently.

"Yeah," he said huskily. "Yeah, I think that sounds good."

Leia nodded in return, and reached out to trace her finger down his forearm. She ran her hand over his bicep, along his shoulder and down to his chest, where she began to thread her fingers through the sparse, dark hair there, pursing her lips for her next words.

"You?" she asked, eyes catching his through her lashes. "You play it so tough – "

"'M a tough guy."

Leia smiled indulgently.

"You play it so tough," she went on quietly, "but I know the carbon…rehash was miserable."

Her hand stilled, and she compressed her lips, taking a deep breath.

"Was I there for you, enough?" she asked carefully. "I wanted to be. I tried – it was just that it got so," she sighed, closing her eyes tensely. "That first day, when I cried," she said bitterly. She shook her head, and opened her eyes again. "I was still so…fragile. Did I give you _enough_?"

Han tilted his head, his expression calm, and he shrugged, reaching over to tuck her hair back from her face. He held her cheek in his hand for a moment, and then let it fall to the sheets between them.

"Leia, I'm fine," he said firmly. "Told you, it wasn't all that bad," he blustered. "Not as bad as it looked, Princess."

Leia studied him intently.

"I didn't want you to have to spend any of your energy focusing on me, or what seeing you go through that was doing to _me_ ," she protested. "I think I failed at that, and I," she stopped, frustrated with herself. "I feel like there's an uneven distribution of comfort between us, sometimes," she said in a small voice. "You don't _get_ as much as you give."

"I don't…need it," Han said slowly, unsure where this was going.

"You have to need it sometimes," Leia said, exasperated. She propped her head up, mirroring his position, her brow furrowed earnestly. "You have to have moments when you can't take me anymore, you can't take my," Leia frowned, looking for a word. "Neuroses," she decided finally, falling back on a familiar one.

Han looked a little annoyed, but thought about it, his brow knit.

"I don't get like that," he said. "I can always… _take you_ ," he quoted, a funny look on his face – perhaps because in a lighter moment, it would have been an amusing double entendre, but the suggestive meaning of it evaporated for now.

"Han," Leia began. "I know. I believe you. You always _have_ – "

"I don't get tired of comfortin' you, Leia," Han interrupted seriously. "I don't…think about it like that, or think I'm bein' – I dunno, neglected. I don't get tired of you strugglin' with things you can't help," he insisted. "Sure as hell don't get tired of you needing me – kriff, I chased after you so long, Sweetheart, spent so long wantin' you, I don't ever take it for granted."

He stopped, and set his jaw. He reached up and rubbed his forehead, his temple twitching uncomfortably.

"Hmm. Damn," he mumbled. "Listen, I don't know how to say this without it comin' off as…sinister or somethin'," he said, glancing at her warily, "but…I always want to make you feel better. I want you to come to me, y'know? You lean on me and," he shrugged, "it makes me feel real signif'cant, like I'm makin' a difference in the world."

Leia turned her head into her palm to wipe her eyes, narrowing her eyes at him through her fingers.

"I hate it when you talk to me like that," she said huskily – Han acted as if he wasn't good with words, but the things he said sometimes – they soothed every terrible thing that had ever happened to her. "It makes me cry."

Han smiled charmingly.

"You hear what I'm saying, though?" he asked sternly. "I don't like it when you say things like I must be tried of dealin' with you, like you're some burden – "

"I don't think that," Leia broke in honestly. "Believe me, I _trust_ you. I know you mean what you're saying. I mean that – I don't always know if you're okay because you're just that strong, or if you're holding back because you think I'm too fragile, or too occupied with my own issues, to shoulder yours."

Leia licked her lips.

"We talked about this when Dr. Mellis diagnosed you. We talked about it at Varykino," she reminded him softly. "I don't ever want you to subjugate your feelings because you think they'll stress me out."

Han looked at her for a long time, his lips fixed in an introspective frown.

"Maybe I think that without knowin' it," he said, with a slight edge of dismissiveness. "I _don't_ think you're fragile," he snorted dryly. He thought about it a moment longer, and then shrugged. "Y'know, I ain't anglin' to make you cry again, Your Highness, but most times, all I need is you _there_."

He shrugged again.

"Worst thing that can happen to me is losin' you," he said flatly. "Second worse, losin' Chewbacca, so I'm gonna hold you to this if somethin' ever happens to that furry oaf," he added affectionately.

Leia smiled faintly.

Han rubbed his forehead again, and then ran his knuckles over his shoulder, still thinking.

"You were there for me when I was mopin' about all this bein' my fault," he said hoarsely, admitting it after a moment.

"It wasn't," Leia reiterated.

Han dipped his head in a nod. She licked her lips.

"That's my point," she whispered. "I don't want to have to _drag_ things out of you when you're hurting."

He smiled faintly, and shifted his feet, his knees brushing her legs.

"You want to know somethin' that was really gettin' to me?" he asked slowly.

She nodded.

"I thought you weren't gonna want to look at me," he confessed, grimacing unhappily. "After we lost it. 'Cause I thought I'd remind you."

Leia compressed her lips, and turned her head again, swiping her palm under her eyes before looking back.

"I thought the same thing," she admitted. "Different reasons. I thought you'd think it was all too…gory."

Han shrugged a little. Leia let her arm fall, and let her head fall, curling up and sidling closer, a relieved laugh escaping her lips. She turned her face into his elbow, and pressed little kisses along the bone there, celebrating the loss of the last bits of tension that had lingered in her.

Han caught her against him, and hugged her with one arm, lowering his head to press a kiss to her hair. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment – savoring that they were moving forward again, able to re-harness their confidence in the healing power of time, now that the glaring obstacle to moving on was gone.

He loosened his grip, and then lowered his own hand, sharing her pillow, and looking at her intently.

"Why'd you tell Bail about Jabba?" he asked.

Leia took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I don't know," she said. "He was keeping me company. He was distracting me. You said it was too hot for me to be in bed with you, and I was remembering Tatooine," she sighed. "I mentioned the shackles. And I guess…it was time for him to know. He wanted stories on how we came to be. Those," she laughed dryly, "aren't conventional."

Han nodded, deciding there was no point in pressing her more. Except –

"I said it was too _hot_ for _you_ to be in bed with me?"

Leia laughed hoarsely. She nodded.

"You did. You kicked me right out."

Han looked shocked, and appalled at himself. He narrowed his eyes.

"That _damn_ carbonite – "

Leia slid her hand over his mouth, her eyes glittering.

"—is gone," she murmured firmly. " _Gone_."

Han grit his teeth, then shook her hand off, smiling. She was right – gone; a thing they never had to worry about again. It was the last toxic, persistent residue of the Empire eviscerated and banished to their history; a conquered ghost, laid to rest – like so many others had been, these past few years.

He moved forward, and slid his hands up to her neck, tilting her head up to kiss her. Leia gave herself to that kiss, reaching up to curl her own hands around his wrists, and hold him tight.

He broke away, swallowing hard and clearing his throat to hide that he was breathless, and then he shifted, sitting up. He scraped his bottom lip with his teeth, and drew his legs up, draping his hands over them.

"I have somethin' for you," he said. "S'not much. S'not…a thing," he muttered, leaning over to open the bedside drawer.

Leia sat up, drawing the sheets with her curiously. She curled her knees in, watching as he took something delicately into his palm, and then turned back to her, obscuring it from view for a moment. He hesitated, steeling himself – because he was uncertain if this was right, but it felt right; it was one thing he hadn't run past Bail, because Bail himself was right – he had taken care of Leia plenty of times without guidance, and he wanted to do something for her - for them – that wasn't wholly based on someone else's handling of this kind if loss.

He pulled his hand back, and handed her the arallutes he had kept on the _Falcon_.

Leia gazed at them silently, and he held his breath, unsure.

She looked up, reaching out tentatively.

"These are – the ones you and Father gave me, after you told him?" she asked quietly.

Han nodded.

"Yeah," he said thickly. He swallowed hard again. "I – I uh, put some stuff away, stuff like this," he said. "I think I made it easier on you."

He watched as she took the wilting flowers in her hand, and examined them, fingers gingerly moving over the softening petals. Leia tilted her head, remembering how she'd felt when her father handed her the bouquet, kissed her cheek, hugged her tight, and told her how happy he was for her – how she'd felt when she saw Han's face, right after she told him.

Her heart ached, and Han reached out to rub her shoulder.

"I didn't want 'em to just…die in that drawer on the _Falcon_ , y'know?" he offered. "Might not've been right to tuck 'em away," he added gruffly. "It didn't turn out right, but," he trailed off. "Leia?" he asked, a quiet plea for her to say something.

Leia curled her hand in gently, cupping it carefully so as not to crush them.

"I think," she began faintly, lifting her eyes. "We should press some of them," she offered slowly. "Preserve them, in a booklet?" she explained, her voice wavering. "I've been…wondering what to do with the sono," she admitted huskily. "I can't look at it yet. We might put these with it, in a keepsake box."

It felt odd to suggest it, to remember it that way – but she found she wanted to remember, not to erase, or suppress; this awful thing had happened, but it had saved Han's life, as well, and it was so rare that a tragedy had a bright side to it; it was so rare to encounter a darkness that did have _reason_.

Han nodded, his shoulders relaxing. Leia focused intently on her hands, uncurled her fingers and flattened her palm. She took a few of the delicate, richly coloured petals, and plucked them loose, turning to place them on the bedside – and then, in an impulsive fit, she took a deep breath, and blew the rest of them into the air, turning her head up to watch them scatter, and settle all over – the floor, the sheets, Han's shoulder.

He turned to her with quiet surprise, and she shrugged helplessly, reaching up to touch her wrist to her lashes, feeling for tears – they were there, but not falling, and she smiled through them. She did not think for a moment that the last of her sadness had been eradicated – there was grief still to come. But sitting here with him, with the worst of both their experiences with it behind them, the rawness faded, bit by bit – and she could see a better horizon, a period of recovery in which the brutal wound knitted into a scar, and the pain dulled to the inexplicably comforting soreness that defined the concept – of healing.

* * *

 _The End_

* * *

 _\- alexandra_


End file.
